


487

by Finduilas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Police, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Invasion of Privacy, Jealousy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partnership, Police Officer Derek Hale, Police Officer Stiles Stilinski, Semi-Public Sex, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Stalking, Violence, but nothing too graphic, death of original minor characters, derek and parrish have a bit of a bff thing going on, derek and stiles don't like each other at first, hiv scare, on the job, scott and stiles are best friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1704344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas/pseuds/Finduilas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after graduating from the Police Academy, Stiles decides to transfer to the Beacon Hills Police Department, where his father is Chief. But when he gets assigned his new partner, Stiles isn't so sure if the transfer was a good idea. Derek 'Officer Grumpy Cat' Hale isn't exactly his first choice of partner. Then again, Stiles really isn't Derek's first choice either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- "487" is Police Code for "Grand Theft". 
> 
> \- Many thanks to Space and Juu for the Beta and hand-holding! 
> 
> \- [Tumblr post with pic set.](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/87108441046/sterek-police-au-487-chapter-1-summary-two)
> 
> \- This fic is kind of special to me because I have been wanting to write a cop AU for a long time now. I am writing this fic from a cop's point of view, and have put a lot of my own experiences into it. Which is what makes me incredibly nervous about sharing it with the fandom, ngl. :) My goal is for this fic to be more of an "a day in the life of a cop" thing than what we usually see on tv shows, for example. But spiced up with Sterek, of course. :)
> 
> \- This is a WIP that I will try to update regularly. I am currently 4 chapters ahead in my writing.

**Prologue**

“But _Da-ad_?” Stiles says, and he knows he’s whining like a child, but this is important, alright?

“The decision has been made, Stiles,” John says as he closes the door to his office, to keep out any prying ears, “And while we’re at it, you should probably start getting used to calling me Chief when you’re in the police station.”

“Chief Daddy?” Stiles says with a grin, before he remembers that he’s actually pissed at his father and he turns his face back into a scowl.

John just smiles and shakes his head, amused.

“No, but seriously, Dad,” Stiles says as he goes to sit down in front of his father’s desk. “What with both Scott and I transferring here, why can’t we be partners? We’d make a good team!”

“Because you’re both still inexperienced, and I don’t like the idea of pairing up the two of you,” John says, frowning.

“We’ve been out of the Academy for almost two years now!” Stiles says, vehemently, because dammit, he’s not a rookie anymore.

“That is still nothing compared to some of our other Officers,” John says, “Listen, you wanted to transfer into a Police Department where I call the shots, then you’re gonna have to get used to taking orders from me. You were the one that assured me it would be no problem.”

“And it won’t be!” Stiles says, firmly.

John raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Except for this!” Stiles tries again, big eyes fixed on his father, “Scott and I, we know what we’re doing!”

“You weren’t partners back in Westville!” John argues.

“And Westville was boring!” Stiles counters, “Come on, it was the small town version of Nothing-Ever-Happens-Here-Ville. This is why I came back to Beacon Hills.”

“And this is why you’re being partnered with an experienced Officer,” John says, “Both you _and_ Scott.”

Stiles sighs, sinking back into his chair.

“You gotta trust me on this, kid,” John says, giving Stiles a sympathetic look. “I just wanna make sure everyone makes it home in one piece at the end of the day. Especially my own son.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Stiles all but rolls his eyes, because really? Doesn’t his dad trust he’s capable of doing this job?

“Remember how worked up you would get as a kid if I came home from work a bit late?” John says, his voice gone softer, “You’d always worry something had happened to me.”

Stiles purses his lips together, thinking back to the times he feared his father wouldn’t come home.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, subdued.

“I know that wasn’t because you doubted my abilities,” John says, his eyes fixed on his son, “Just like you need to know I’m not doubting yours now.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, clearing his throat slightly. He nods, resigning to his fate. “Okay then,” he goes on, tilting his head back up, “So who am I being partnered up with?”

“Hale,” John says, the beginnings of a grin appearing on his face.

“ _Cora_?” Stiles asks, confused, “But she’s a Detective?”

John shakes his head. “Derek,” he says, leaning forward in his chair.

“ _Officer Grumpy Cat?!_ ” Stiles calls out, so bewildered that he misses the snort of laughter his father tries to hide.

“He goes by Officer Hale here,” John says, trying to wipe the smirk off his face, “But yes.”

“Oh father, why do you hate me so much?” Stiles asks, dramatically, as he buries his face in his hands.

“Hale is one of our best and brightest, Stiles,” John says, in all seriousness, “You will benefit enormously from getting to learn from him.”

“But he hates literally everyone!” Stiles says, feeling the courage sink in his stomach.

“No, he doesn’t,” John says, tutting at Stiles.

“He sure acts like he does!” Stiles says, grumpily. “Besides, I thought he worked with Parrish? What, did Parrish get tired of him?”

“You know Parrish hurt his knee not long ago,” John explains, “He feels like he’s not up to street work anymore and he asked to be put on Dispatch. It has nothing to do with Derek.”

“Oh, right…” Stiles says, because he remembers John telling him about the baseball bat Parrish took to the knee a while back.

“You’ll be fine, Stiles,” John says, getting up from behind his desk as an indication that he needs to get back to work.

Stiles gets up as well, and lets himself be guided towards the door.

“So who’s Scott getting?” he asks, one hand on the door.

“Allison Argent,” John says.

“What?” Stiles calls out, “Oh man, she’s so kick-ass!” He pouts for a second, before he opens his mouth all of a sudden, but his father cuts him off.

“No, you can’t trade partners with Scott!” John says, put upon.

“But Dad!” Stiles implores.

“Goodbye, son,” John insists, all but shoving Stiles out the door.

“Fine, fine. You should probably get used to calling me Officer Stilinski though,” Stiles says, adding a wink.

His father just chuckles before closing the door on him.

***

**Chapter 1**

Stiles is thirty minutes early for his first shift in Beacon Hills, and stays glued to Scott’s side as long as he can. He catches a glimpse of Derek in the hallway, talking to Officer Parrish and… _smiling_? Derek Hale can _smile_? All he’s ever seen him do during his visits at the police station is scowl and grunt and not talk to people. But Parrish actually gets a smile, and… Parrish just bursts out in laughter at something Derek has said - inaudible to Stiles.

“He’s _funny_?” Stiles whispers at Scott, and he feels like everything he ever knew in this world was a lie.

“Hey, maybe it won’t be so bad?” Scott says, ever the optimist.

“Easy for you to say,” Stiles sighs, looking back at Scott, “You’ve got the most bad-ass cop as a partner, and to top it off, she’s super friendly _and_ beautiful!”

“Well…” Scott says, grinning for a second, before he nods his head over Stiles’ shoulder to where Stiles knows Derek and Parrish are still talking. “Surely you’re not gonna tell me Derek isn’t good-looking?”

“Th-that…” Stiles sputters, pulling Scott away by the arm, to create a bigger distance between him and Derek to make sure he doesn’t catch any of this conversation. “That’s completely beside the point!”

“Knew it,” Scott beams, smugly, and maybe Stiles is glad he isn’t paired with his traitorous best friend after all?

Stiles is just about to give him his comeback, when Allison - Stiles recognizes most of the Officers at the station from all the times he’s been here to visit his father - shows up and says, “Hi! You’re Scott, right?”

“Yep, that’s me!” Scott says, holding out his hand for Allison to shake it.

“Hello Stiles, succumbed to the Beacon Hills charm after all?” she smiles at him, shaking his hand as well.

“It was only a matter of time,” Stiles tells her.

“So Scott, I hear you and I are going to be working together a lot from now on,” Allison says, turning back to her new partner.

“That’s the plan,” Scott says, and Stiles thinks that if he smiles any wider, he’s going to sprain something.

“He’s the lucky one!” Stiles says, elbowing Scott in the ribs.

“And you aren’t?” Allison frowns at Stiles.

“More like I’m being punished,” Stiles winks at her, and there’s a hint of a smile on her face before she straightens up and her lips part just a tiny bit. Stiles gets it just as there’s a throat clearing behind him, and dread is already filling him as he slowly turns around… to face Derek.

“Punished, huh?” Derek says, and his face looks less than impressed.

“Derek, hi,” Stiles stammers out, feeling like a complete idiot, “I was just…”

Derek doesn’t even look mad, he just looks… already sick and tired of Stiles and their shift hasn’t even started yet.

“Briefing’s in fifteen,” Derek says, completely dismissing Stiles’ stammering. “Don’t be late or we’ll get stuck with the crap jobs.”

And Stiles is not going to lie, he kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole right now. Derek just walks past him, gives Allison a friendly nod, and disappears down the hallway.

“Only you, Stiles,” Scott mutters, and Stiles pretends he doesn’t see the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Can I go back to Westville now?” Stiles groans, dropping his chin to his chest.

“Familiar isn’t always better, buddy,” Scott says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, it’ll be okay.”

“Derek takes some warming up to,” Allison says, sympathetic, “But he’s a good guy, and a great cop. Don’t worry too much about it.”

Stiles nods, unconvinced.

“Go grab your weapon belts,” Allison nods towards Stiles and Scott’s waists. “Derek isn’t wrong about briefing.”

“Okay,” Scott says, dragging Stiles along towards the staircase leading to the gun lockers.

“Well, that was a horrible introduction,” Stiles sighs as he wraps his belt around his waist, checking the position of every tool.

“At least you didn’t call him Officer Grumpy Cat,” Scott sniggers, fiddling with the combination of his locker.

“Don’t even…” Stiles laments, pulling the slide back on his gun to check it before pushing the magazine in.

“Give the guy a chance at least, Stiles,” Scott says, checking his gun as well.

“Yeah…” Stiles grumbles noncommittally, shoving his weapon in the holster and closing his locker.

The briefing room is filling up when Stiles and Scott get there. Allison immediately calls Scott over, having saved him a seat next to her. Scott shoots Stiles a nervously excited smile before slipping in the seat next to his new partner.

When Stiles looks around the room, his eyes fall on the empty seat next to Derek, but Derek’s attention is on his radio as he’s clipping it on his bullet proof vest, sticking the earpiece in his ear. Stiles is contemplating whether or not he should go up to him when he gets shoulder-checked by Jackson passing by. Jackson, who doesn’t even say hello - or sorry for bumping into him - and just ignores Stiles as he takes a seat near the front of the room. Clearly Jackson hasn’t changed much from being the douchebag he was in high school.

As Stiles finally looks back towards Derek, Derek is looking back at him - blank expression on his face - and nods towards the empty seat at his side. Stiles hurries over, tries a friendly smile, and takes his seat.

“Hi,” Stiles says, somewhat unsure, “So I’m Stiles - ”

“Derek,” Derek says, cutting him off and getting right down to business, “Take notes during Chief Stilinski’s briefing. Addresses that are special, license plates to look out for, high risk areas. If you didn’t catch something, the bullet points are always put on the computer as well, so don’t disturb the briefing by asking him to repeat anything.”

Stiles nods. It’s not like he doesn’t know these things already, but he finds it’s probably best to indulge Derek right now, given the bad introduction from earlier.

“If he gives us crappy assignments, don’t argue,” Derek goes on, side-eyeing Stiles, “We don’t need everyone thinking we’re getting special treatment because he’s your father.”

“Whoa, wait a second,” Stiles says, shaking his head, because there are some things he just can’t let slip by. “My dad’s a fair guy. He’s gonna treat me the way he does everyone else.”

“Alright then,” Derek says, looking anything but convinced.

“So that’s what you think of me? That I’m only here because I’m the Chief’s son?” Stiles whispers, not wanting to make a scene on his first day. “I can do my job.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Derek says, shrugging.

And seriously? The nerve on this guy!

Stiles is just about to open his mouth again when his father walks in, a binder of papers in his hands, and takes his place in the front of the room. The entire room goes silent, save for some rustling of papers and chairs scraping over the floor.

“Morning everyone,” Chief Stilinski says, greeted by a symphony of muttered “good mornings” before he starts giving them their daily information they need to know before going out on the streets. It’s a recap of recent events in their territory, special attentions of the coming day, things to be on the lookout for. “Matt Daehler got released over the weekend,” the Chief says, and the muttering starts up again.

“Already?” someone calls out from the back, and Stiles turns to see it’s Detective Reyes.

“What can I say?” Chief Stilinski says, regret audible in his voice, “We put them away, but we don’t get to decide for how long.”

“Guy deserves to be put away in a grave,” Jackson mutters, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

“Daehler’s the one that attacked Allison and Parrish, right?” Stiles whispers at Derek, “The one that stalked Allison?”

Derek nods curtly, his posture stiff.

“That’s the kind of talk we try to avoid, Whittemore!” the Chief calls out, and Jackson grunts as he sinks a little deeper in his seat. “You’re already too acquainted with Harris from I.A. as it is.”

Stiles can’t help but snort, and when he looks over, he can tell even Derek is trying to hide a smile.

“Anyway,” Chief Stilinski says, “Daehler is out under conditions. He’s got a curfew we’ll be checking up on, and if you see him break it don’t hesitate to bring him in. He’s also not allowed to come within 500 feet of Officer Argent.”

All heads turn to Allison now, but she keeps her face straight, just nods along with what Stiles’ father is saying.

“Everyone read up on his conditions,” he goes on, “So that the second he steps out of line, we can catch him, alright?”

There’s an agreeable buzz going around the room.

“Alright!” Chief Stilinski claps his hands once. “Then there’s one last thing I’d like to address. As you might have seen already, we’re welcoming two new members at our department today, Officer McCall and Officer Stilinski, both transferring here from Westville PD.”

All eyes are on Scott and Stiles now, and Stiles does an embarrassing little wave around him.

“You might know Officer Stilinski already, since it’s no coincidence we share a last name,” Stiles’ father says, and Stiles can feel Derek’s eyes burning into him. “And Officer McCall isn’t a complete stranger here either, seeing as they’re both from Beacon Hills. So I hope you’ll give them both a warm welcome. Officer McCall will be partnered with Officer Argent, seeing as Officer Lahey made Detective - ”

There are cheers going around the room for Isaac, who is standing in the back next to Erica, and who is now blushing furiously.

“Congratulations, _Detective_ Lahey!” Chief Stilinski continues, “And Officer Stilinski will have the honor of working with Officer Hale, now that Officer Parrish has joined our Dispatch Unit.”

_Honor_?, Stiles thinks, very unsure about that, but he smiles and nods at everyone anyway.

His father wraps up the briefing then, and teams slowly start pouring out of the briefing room. As he gets up, he is greeted by a friendly face and a hand sticking out at him.

“Guess I’m not the newbie anymore! Kira Yukimura!” Kira says, shaking his hand, and he remembers Kira joining Beacon Hills PD about half a year ago.

“Seems like Scott and I took that title from you,” Stiles says, and introduces himself.

“I’m not mourning that,” Kira says with a smile, shaking hands with Scott as well. “Welcome to the family, guys.” Then she tilts her head at Stiles. “Well, I guess you already kinda were.”

“Hah, yeah,” Stiles nods, and then Jackson yells out Kira’s name from where he’s waiting by the door.

“I’m coming!” Kira yells back, rolling her eyes.

“Wow, you hit the jackpot with your partner,” Stiles says, biting his tongue not to ask if they can’t just put Derek and Jackson together.

“Kira here can handle him though,” Allison says, a hand on Kira’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen anyone put Jackson in his place quite as fast as Kira on her first shift with him.”

“He needed it,” Kira says, sweetly, but there’s a wicked glint to her eyes. Stiles is definitely going to like her.

“You ready to go?” Allison asks Scott, as Kira waves at them and heads towards her partner.

“Yep,” Scott beams, patting Stiles on the shoulder for good luck.

“Derek?” Allison asks, and Derek joins them now, instead of lurking a bit further like he was up to now. “We’ll back each other’s calls when needed? Until our new partners are worked in a bit?”

“Sounds good,” Derek says, nodding.

“Okay,” Allison says, then at Scott as they start walking away, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, of course. But we don’t know each other’s way of working yet.”

“No, no, I totally understand…” Scott starts saying, and then they’re out of Stiles’ hearing range, so Stiles turns to Derek, looking at him expectantly.

“I don’t trust you yet,” Derek says simply, after a beat, and then he’s swinging his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door. “Come on. It’s time to ride out.”

“Nice…” Stiles mutters, but follows him anyway.

***

Derek dumps his bag in the trunk, holding it open for Stiles to do the same.

“You have a pen and your notebook on you for radio calls?” he asks as he slams the trunk shut.

“Yep,” Stiles nods.

“‘kay…” Derek says, then starts inspecting Stiles’ bullet proof vest, tugging at the velcro straps, checking to see if it’s put on decently.

**Art by GirlEverAfter**

“I appreciate the concern, but I’ve been wearing one of these for almost two years now,” Stiles says, and he tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice as much as he can.

“I don’t wanna deal with you taking a bullet to the chest because you didn’t put your vest on correctly,” Derek says, but he pulls his hands back anyway, giving Stiles some space.

Stiles sighs for a moment, then lift his arms and takes a step closer to Derek, giving him permission to continue his inspection. Derek nods, almost gratefully, and pulls on the velcro once again.

“Not too tight? You can still breathe?” Derek asks.

“Deep breaths and everything,” Stiles says, inhaling deeply to show Derek.

“Okay,” Derek says, patting Stiles on the chest twice to indicate he’s done. Stiles can’t feel the hand through his vest, but he can kind of appreciate the gesture.

“Okay,” Stiles says, smiling weakly, surrendering to Derek’s rule, at least for this first day. “Come on. Lets get this done with. Anything else you want to check before we ride out? Anything you want to know? My gun was checked before holstering, by the way. My father has taught me this himself.”

For a second he thinks Derek is going to get mad, give him crap about his attitude, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face as he takes what Stiles said the way he intended it, as a surrender.

“A guy puts a gun to my head,” Derek states, his eyes fixed on Stiles, “Do you shoot?”

“Yes,” Stiles says, determined.

Derek looks at him, narrows his eyes, and there’s this feeling of dread filling Stiles, thinking he fucked up somehow, thinking he misunderstood the question maybe, but then Derek nods - more to himself than to Stiles - and he says, “Then I can ride with you,” and heads towards the driver’s seat. Stiles closes his eyes for a second, lets out a puff of air, before joining Derek in the car.

It stays calm for the first hour and a half or so. They don’t talk much, Derek’s eyes glued to the road, to his surroundings. Stiles tries to think of small talk he could make, friendly conversation to get things going between the two of them, but he isn’t sure if Derek would appreciate it. So he stays quiet, looking out the window as the streets pass by, making sure he doesn’t miss anything.

They get pulled over by the lady that runs one of the bakeries. She starts to complain about the state of the pavement in front of her shop, until she recognizes Stiles - everyone knows Stiles in Beacon Hills - and starts raving about how proud his father must be that he joined the force. Stiles beams and socializes - his father always said it was part of the job - while Derek just stands there, arms crossed in front of his chest, face stoic as Mrs Bueller goes on and on about the Chief.

“Why don’t you take some pastries with you for your father, eh?” Mrs Bueller says excitedly, already halfway back into her store, surely to grab the aforementioned goodies.

“Oh, no, Ma’am, I really can’t!” Stiles calls out, feeling awkward about taking gifts while in uniform, no matter how well-meant Mrs Bueller’s intentions are. Besides, it’s not like he has any idea how Derek would react anyway.

“But he loves them so,” the lady says, smiling as she tilts her head at Stiles, giving him a sympathetic look.

“He should be checking what he eats!” Stiles says, a friendly smile on his face, “His cholesterol, Mrs Bueller!”

“Oh, alright then,” Mrs Bueller tuts, then purses her lips into a grin, “And what about the both of you?”

“How about you save that offer for another time, Ma’am?” Derek says, suddenly flashing a smile at her and it takes Stiles by surprise. “And in the meantime, we’ll pass on the information about maybe resurfacing part of this pavement, alright?”

“That would be so helpful,” Mrs Bueller coos, rubbing her hands together as she looks at them as if they’re her personal heroes. And all that for a stretch of pavement.

“You’re very welcome,” Derek says, tilting his head dutifully at her, and Stiles swears to God he’s never seen Derek look this friendly.

“And don’t think I’ll forget about those pastries, boys!” Mrs Bueller calls out as she walks back into her bakery, letting Stiles and Derek continue their patrol.

“Well…” Stiles says as he slides back into the passenger seat, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“What?” Derek asks, pulling the car on the road again.

“The smiling, the buttering up bakery ladies,” Stiles grins, and Derek rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t buttering up - it’s called being polite, Stilinski,” Derek says, “It’s just part of the job.”

“Right,” Stiles nods so firmly it should be obvious to Derek he’s mocking him.

Derek stays stoic as ever though.

“Honestly though…” Stiles says, after a few more beats of silence, “Bueller’s pastries are damn good, aren’t they?”

Derek clenches his jaw somewhat.

“I was so tempted to just accept the lot,” Stiles pushes a bit more, grinning at his new partner. “I keep telling my dad he shouldn’t eat them, but I can’t stay away from them myself. I’m such a sucker for a Danish.”

Derek hums something non-committal, before he glances over at Stiles for a second, contemplation clear on his face.

“I like the croissants best,” he says eventually, and Stiles can’t help but smile at him.

Baby steps, Stiles thinks.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The first few days of working together with Derek are… rather uneventful. They have the usual missions, nothing special. Derek hasn’t exactly opened up yet - Stiles isn’t sure if Derek even opens up at all - but Stiles thinks he can detect some kind of loosening up of his scowl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- See notes at first chapter. 
> 
> \- Warning: Off-screen death of original character.
> 
> \- [Tumblr post with graphic.](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/87691820851/sterek-police-au-487-chapter-2-previously)

The first few days of working together with Derek are… rather uneventful. They have the usual missions, nothing special. Derek hasn’t exactly opened up yet - Stiles isn’t sure if Derek even opens up _at all_ \- but Stiles thinks he can detect some kind of loosening up of his scowl. Stiles thinks bringing him croissants from Mrs Bueller’s bakery on the second day was probably a good idea. There hasn’t been a person in the world Stiles couldn’t learn to schmooze and Derek sure as hell isn’t the exception. Stiles has Stilinski charm, dammit.

Sometimes, after their shift, Derek will head over to the Dispatch room to catch up with Parrish, and Stiles can’t help but wonder what Derek is telling him when Parrish asks how working in the new partner is going. Because as much as he likes to convince himself that he doesn’t care what Derek thinks of him - Stiles knows what he’s worth, knows he’s a hard worker and a quick learner - he can’t help but feel this need bubble up to get Derek’s approval. A need he’s trying hard to tamp down.

His dad is being the worried father at home and the trying-not-to-baby-his-son Chief at work, but in every conversation the two of them have about the job, it is clear that John has the utmost respect for Derek.

Scott and Allison are definitely hitting it off as partners, for which Stiles is grateful, since it was mostly his idea to transfer to Beacon Hills PD and Scott probably wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for Stiles. Derek and Allison are still upholding their deal to back each other up if possible, for the time being, which Stiles really doesn’t mind because it means getting to see Scott more often.

Like right now, when Scott and Allison have been called in for a shoplifter and Derek’s idea to back the call doesn’t seem to be such a bad one.

“214 at the scene,” Stiles calls through the radio, as they’re stepping into the small clothing store.

They’re immediately greeted by the ruckus in the back, Scott’s voice coming from the backroom, “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to calm down.”

Derek speeds up his step, heading for the back, Stiles in tow. When they enter the backroom, which turns out to be storage, Allison’s got her handcuffs in one hand, holding her other out in front of her in case the shoplifter lunges at her. Scott is standing beside her, between the shoplifter and what Stiles assumes must be the manager or shopkeeper. The guy - the shoplifter - is agitated, pacing around the small space he has between the wall, a pile of boxes, and Allison and Scott. His eyes are nervously flittering between all of them, his breathing loud.

“You have no right to do this!” he calls out, beads of sweat covering his forehead, and Stiles thinks he might be under the influence of something.

“We do, Sir,” Allison says, firmly but not raising her voice, “You were caught passing the register with items you didn’t pay for. We’re going to have to frisk you, I’m gonna have to put these cuffs on you, and you’re going to come with us and we’ll sort all of this out.”

“No, I - ” the guy starts, then tries to walk out of the room, shoving his shoulder against Allison and Scott, who immediately grip his upper arms, one on each side.

“Let go of me!” the guy yells, trying to pull free, and then Derek is right beside Scott, and with one swift movement they turn the guy around, chest pressed against the wall.

“That is non-negotiable,” Derek says, and Allison snaps on the cuffs now that the guy is all but immobilized.

“214, come in,” Parrish’s voice calls out over the radio as the shoplifter keeps spouting out his outrage about being arrested, while Scott is searching his pockets for a safety frisk.

“214 listening,” Stiles calls back.

“Are you free, 214?” Parrish asks, and Stiles looks questioningly at Derek, who looks at Allison, her grip still tight on the suspect’s arm.

“Yeah, go,” Allison nods, “We got this. Just gotta throw him in the car and take him in for booking.”

“Go ahead, Dispatch,” Derek says, nodding a thank you to Allison as he heads out into the store again. Stiles gives Scott a pat on the shoulder, before following Derek.

“Derek, can you go 563 Elm Drive. Miss Campbell, 83 years old, lives alone,” Parrish reads off his screen, “Her nephew lives in Utah but is concerned because he hasn’t been able to reach her in a few days. Says it’s not in her habit not to answer the phone. There’s no family living close by to come check.”

“Roger, we’re on our way,” Derek says, stepping back into the car.

Stiles has a sinking feeling in his stomach as he takes his place in the passenger seat. Derek turns towards him before starting up the car.

“You know what this can be?” Derek asks, remarkably soft.

Stiles nods. “A death.”

“Or something silly like she took a trip and forgot to tell her nephew, or the battery of her phone ran out and she didn’t realize, or she was taken to the hospital but they were unable to find emergency contact information,” Derek says, but then nods, “ _But, yes_ , there’s a possibility she’s dead.”

Stiles nods again. Those other possibilities didn’t even occur to him.

“Have you ever had a death before?” Derek asks, and from the way he’s asking, Stiles knows he suspects he hasn’t.

Stiles shakes his head. “Not - not on the job, no.”

Derek nods, comprehending. “It’s different,” he just says, finally turning over the key in the ignition, “You’ll be okay.”

Stiles tells himself that he will be. They head out to Elm Drive, and Stiles is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he hears Allison announce on the radio that they’re on their way to the station with their suspect, when he hears Jackson and Kira being sent out for a minor car accident, when someone - he doesn’t recognize the voice over the radio - makes a joke about Jackson’s driving and making sure not to cause another accident. Stiles lets it flow over him, until they arrive at the house and park on the street, not the driveway. Stiles knows it’s to make room for an ambulance or a hearse, if needed.

“Few days worth?” Stiles says to Derek as he gestures towards the mailbox at the side of the driveway, envelopes sticking out. Not exactly a good sign.

Derek hums as he nods. There’s no answer when they ring the doorbell, nothing when they tap at the windows. The living room seems empty, the angles Stiles can see through the open curtains anyway.

“So what now?” Stiles asks, pondering, “A locksmith? Kick in the door?”

“A locksmith,” Derek says, “ _If…_ ” There’s a small window up next to the front door, with a flower box on the sill, and Derek roots his hand in the dirt for a second, feeling underneath the leaves until he picks out a dirt-covered key triumphantly.

Stiles all but groans, shaking his head. “That is just asking for burglars…”

“But it saves us some time,” Derek shrugs, unlocking the door for them.

The ground floor is empty, as they call out Miss Campbell’s name, with no answer. Derek freezes somewhere in the middle of the stairs, as he looks back down at Stiles, who is right behind him.

“Do you smell that?” Derek asks.

Stiles sniffs in the air, catching a whiff of a faint, unpleasant odor, barely there but unrecognizable to him. The look on Derek’s face says enough though, he has no doubt Derek recognizes the smell of death. His father always told him it’s something you can’t compare to anything else, but once you know it, there’s no mistaking it.

“Guess it wasn’t the batteries in her phone after all,” Stiles says with a wry smile, and he can’t help the fact that he’s nervous.

“Guess not,” Derek says, as he continues into the hallway upstairs. “There’s no need to rush,” he calls out behind him, “Take your time, okay?”

Stiles nods, but stays close to Derek anyway, his heart beating in his throat as Derek pushes open the door to the bedroom. The smell is there now, not overwhelming but no way to deny it. The old lady, Miss Campbell, is laying in her bed, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. Derek gets closer to her, looks around the bedroom, careful not to touch anything. Stiles, however... his eyes are fixed on the woman. It’s not that it looks like she’s sleeping, per se. Stiles realizes she is not. Even if the faint odor and the small spots on her skin didn’t give it away. It’s just… strange, to think that before him is this person that had an entire life, but Stiles only came into it when it was over.

“Nothing looks suspicious,” Derek says, and Stiles recognizes that he’s keeping a close eye on him, and he feels silly for it. He bets Derek never did that with Parrish. “Probably died in her sleep, but Doctor Martin will have to confirm that.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, as he finally starts to look around the room.

“C’mon,” Derek says as he rounds the bed again, patting Stiles on the shoulder before he leaves the room and presses the mic on his radio as he calls it in and asks to send a doctor to confirm the death. Stiles throws another glance at Miss Campbell, then follows Derek down the stairs.

“And now we wait,” Derek says, letting out a deep breath.

Stiles nods and takes out his notepad, writing down the exact time Derek called for the doctor, the description of the place, the description of the body. He knows what to do.

“Both arms under the covers?” Stiles asks, hesitantly, and it feels weird that he can’t remember even though he was so fixed on her just a few moments ago.

“Yeah,” Derek nods, and then the radio booms again.

“214 for Dispatch.”

“Come in.”

“Doctor Martin’s on her way. She’ll be about 45 minutes to an hour though. She’s finishing up at the hospital.” Parrish’s voice informs them.

Derek sighs, before acknowledging the information over the radio.

“I guess we wait a little longer,” Derek says.

Stiles nods, taking a deep breath as he looks around the room. It’s funny how the dull smell seems stuck in his nose now, when he was sure it didn’t reach the living room before. Maybe it’s because they opened the bedroom door? Maybe it’s simply his imagination?

“I’ll be right back,” Derek says suddenly, heading for the front door.

“Where are you - ?” Stiles asks, then catches himself.

Derek holds up one finger, as if to say ‘one minute’ and disappears from his sight. True to his word, he comes back in not a minute later, holding out a can of Coke to a confused Stiles.

“Sugar,” Derek says, as if that explains everything, “Drink it.”

“I - ?” Stiles asks, wrapping his fingers gingerly around the can. “I’m okay.”

“I know,” Derek says, and it doesn’t sound patronizing, just… considerate. “Just drink it.”

Stiles stares at the can in his hands for a few seconds, thinks about making a flippant remark about how he’s tougher than this, and he feels absolutely fine, but he realizes Derek must have been here too, and maybe this is what his partner at the time did for him, or maybe he’s just improvising, but either way… He thinks maybe this is part of Derek opening up.

So he says, “Thanks” as he opens the can and starts sipping from it.

Stiles doesn’t know if it’s the mere idea, or if the sugar really did help, but he feels a bit more steady when the drink is gone.

“I bet breaking in a new guy wasn’t high on your list of things you wanted to do, right?” Stiles asks, giving Derek half a smile.

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek says, giving him a quick glance.

“I mean, I’m not _new_ , exactly,” Stiles goes on anyway, “I know how to do this job. It’s just some things… well, there’s always a first. It’s inevitable. And I’m trying not to piss you off or anything. I mean, I wanted to work with Scott. I know he actually _likes_ having to spend ten hours a day with me, and I asked my dad - ”

Derek snorts, cutting Stiles’ rant short.

“That didn’t come out like I meant it…” Stiles trails off, because yeah, did he just kind of tell Derek he really didn’t want to work with him?

Derek just clenches his jaw, and fuck, he looks irritated now. Why does Stiles always have to open his big mouth anyway?

“Okay, time out,” Stiles says, because funnily enough, Stiles really wants to keep working with Derek. He is greeted by Derek’s raised eyebrows. “This was before we actually started working together,” Stiles says, firmly, “The thing about asking my dad to work with Scott? That was before. Which makes sense, right? It’s just… I know that I can learn a lot from you, I already am, and maybe you’re not the worst to work with, if you can look past the grumpiness and the… you know, utterly keeping to yourself.” Stiles groans, because how much more can he fuck this up with words?

“Grumpiness…” Derek nods, his lips pressed together tightly.

“My dad thinks you’re the best, okay?” Stiles blurts out, and there’s a bit of color to Derek’s cheeks. “And I know that’s why he teamed me up with you, and I know you really didn’t want that because you feel like it’s some kind of favoritism or something, and it probably _is_ , I don’t know…”

Stiles sighs. He’s officially lost his train of thought and dug himself a hole the size of Derek’s eyebrows at the same time. He ducks his head. Can this day get any worse?

Derek clears his throat for a second, then shrugs. “I got used to working with Parrish, is all.”

Stiles dares to glance up at him.

“We got along, it was familiar…” Derek trails off, then shoots Stiles a small smile, “He didn’t mind when I kept to myself.”

“I…” Stiles stammers, giving Derek an apologetic look.

“But things change,” Derek goes on, “And the fact that Daehler messed up Parrish’s knee isn’t your fault and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“You’re not - ” Stiles starts.

“And I’m fine working with you, and I know that you can do your job, I’ve seen that already,” Derek rushes out, like it’s an admission he’s really not that comfortable with.

It makes something like pride bubble up in Stiles’ stomach though, and he can’t help but grin. Maybe he didn’t mess up as badly as he thought?

“I’m also not entirely sure I’m the best person to teach anybody anything, and I told the Chief that, but…” Derek clicks his tongue, raising his shoulder in a ‘whatever’ gesture.

“He’s stubborn,” Stiles grins, and it earns him a weak smile from Derek. “And he also really believes in you.”

The flush on Derek’s cheeks is back as he tries to shake his head nonchalantly, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“And you know what?” Stiles asks, gingerly, waiting until Derek looks at him again. “He was right. You’re not as bad at this as you think.” Stiles holds up the empty can of Coke and gives it a shake as a gesture to Derek.

“I thought you didn’t need this though?” Derek says, the edge of his mouth curling up, “I mean, you _have_ been doing this for almost two years…”

It doesn’t sound spiteful, in fact, Stiles thinks it’s kinda nice that Derek is actually cracking a joke. Who knew?

“Yeah, well…” Stiles says, returning the smile, “I’m guessing there’s always more to learn, isn’t there?”

“Yeah, I think there is,” Derek says, softly.

Stiles sniffs, scrunches up his nose for a second, and calls out, “When is that damn stink gonna leave my nose though?”

Derek barks out a laugh, his eyes crinkling.

“You’ll get used to it,” he says.

“I shudder to think…” Stiles shakes his head, chuckling.

Eventually, Doctor Martin - Lydia - arrives, with her assistant Danny in tow. Derek tries to introduce them, but as Lydia shakes his hand, she smiles, “We know each other, Officer Hale.”

“Beacon Hills High,” Stiles clarifies.

Danny comes to shake his hand as well, but Danny and Stiles know each other too. They frequent the same bars from time to time, but Danny doesn’t mention that.

“So what do we have?” Lydia asks, and Derek shows them the way to the bedroom.

A natural death is declared, which leaves Stiles and Derek with not a whole lot left to do. The whole thing takes up most of their shift though, and when they drive back to the station, Stiles can’t stop himself from glancing over at Derek every once in a while. He feels like he saw a glimpse of a new side of Derek today, one he didn’t think he’d see. And he’s still buzzing from the emotion of the day, but Stiles thinks that he likes it.

“Another shift with me survived,” Derek quips as he parks their patrol car in the underground garage, tearing off his bulletproof vest the second he steps out of the car.

“Looks like we’re making it a habit,” Stiles says, smiling.

Just as Derek passes his badge to open the electronic gate, Cora and Boyd step out into the garage, plain-clothed, bags in their hands.

“Hey big bro!” Cora calls out, “Done for the day?”

“Yep,” Derek says, “Gonna wash the smell of dead people off.”

“Pfff, you don’t even reek,” Boyd says, rolling his eyes, as if stinking of death is some kind of feat.

“Going out?” Derek asks his sister, nodding towards the undercover car where Boyd is now dropping his bag in the trunk.

“Surveillance,” Cora sighs, all but yawning. “Chief asked us to swing by Daehler’s place. Make sure he’s upholding his curfew.”

“Be careful,” Derek says as he passes her by, heading inside.

“Not my dad, Der!” Cora calls out after him as Boyd laughs.

“Gotta love cops as family, right?” Stiles asks as they head upstairs to clock out. “Never a peaceful moment anymore.”

“Tell me about it,” Derek sighs.

It’s when they’re both in the locker room, Stiles already getting dressed after his shower, that he decides to ask Derek about Matt Daehler.

“So this Daehler guy…?” Stiles calls out, hearing the shower turn off behind him, hunched over to tie his sneakers. “You guys don’t seem too confident about him having learned his lesson and being an upstanding citizen from now on?”

“Daehler’s a psychopath,” Derek says, and his voice is suddenly so close that Stiles flips around in surprise, only to be met by the sight of Derek, still dripping wet, with nothing more than a towel around his waist.

Stiles gulps, and forces his eyes up - because, nope, that’s just _not_ a good idea.

“Psychopaths don’t just stop being psychos because they’re caught,” Derek says, grabbing another towel from his locker and ruffling it through his hair.

Stiles clears his throat, snapping his eyes back towards his shoes - for fuck’s sake, why is he fumbling with the laces? - before Derek can catch him staring.

“That guy was obsessed with Allison,” Derek goes on, and Stiles can see him rubbing the towel over his entire body out of the corner of his eye, “You should’ve seen the pictures alone. The amount of candids he had… All those times she didn’t know she was being watched.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, subdued.

“Of everyone around her as well,” Derek says, stepping into a pair of crisp black boxershorts that he pulls up under the towel. “He was obsessed. Convinced she loved him back. When he took out Parrish with the baseball bat…” Stiles can see the anger still visible on Derek’s face. “... he said he did it to protect Allison. As if _Parrish_ was the threat!”

“How on earth is he free already?” Stiles asks, shaking his head.

“Because he’s smart,” Derek says, yanking a clean white shirt over his head, covering up what Stiles can’t deny is a pretty impressive chest. “He’s smarter than you, me, half the station put together.”

“That’s scary…” Stiles frowns, finally straightening up as Derek continues to get dressed.

“That’s dangerous,” Derek says, “He’s got what they call an endless memory. It’s insane.”

“My dad mentioned that,” Stiles says, “He can basically recall… everything?”

“Sort of, yeah,” Derek says, buttoning up his pants.

“A dangerous psychopath with an endless memory,” Stiles mutters, biting his lip.

“And an unhealthy obsession with our department,” Derek adds, fake-cheerful as he snaps his locker shut.

“Oh, we’re so screwed…” Stiles whispers, dread suddenly filling him.

“Nah,” Derek says, packing his things together, “We’re BHPD. We’ll make it.” He grabs his bag and walks past Stiles. “See you tomorrow, Stiles.”

And then he’s off, leaving Stiles to stand there to contemplate this day, which somehow seemed never ending. He’s almost too deep in thoughts about his first death, this insane information about Matt Daehler - and yes, maybe a little bit about the way Derek looked stepping out of the shower - to realize that Derek did a whole lot of opening up.

And damn if Stiles doesn’t really like it.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Come have a drink with us, Chief Stilinski!” Erica yells out - maybe slightly tipsy - right into Stiles’ ear._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- See chapter notes for chapter 1. 
> 
> \- [Art for this chapter by GirlEverAfter](http://girleverafter.tumblr.com/post/88702785468/grumpy-cat-erica-calls-out-triumphantly-as-she) (Also incorporated into the chapter)

“Come on, Stiles,” his father’s voice comes through the phone, “They really don’t want their boss to be breathing down their necks.”

“I’m serious, Dad!” Stiles calls out, probably a little too loudly over the noise in the bar, “They all asked me to call you, to tell you to come!”

“Come have a drink with us, Chief Stilinski!” Erica yells out - maybe slightly tipsy - right into Stiles’ ear.

Stiles can hear John chuckle on the end of the line as Greenberg also screams, “Yeah, come on, Chief!”

“We’re having fun, Dad,” Stiles says, sticking his finger in the ear that’s not pressed against his phone, so he can hear his father better, “Pretty much everyone from day shift is here, and we’d love for you to join us.”

“And you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen drinking with your old man in front of your new colleagues?” John asks, but Stiles can detect a hint of a smile in there.

“Oh please, you’re _everyone_ ’s old man here, basically,” Stiles smiles, because if there’s anything Stiles has learned in the few weeks he’s been working for Beacon Hills PD, it’s that everyone is slightly afraid of the Chief, but also really wants to impress him and wants his approval, and Stiles may or may not get a little bit emotional and insanely proud about that fact. “Besides,” Stiles adds, winking at Sergeant Finstock, who he knows is close enough to hear him, “Finstock is here as well, so you won’t be alone in your old age.”

“I heard that, Stilinski!” Finstock calls out, a scowl on his face, but then Greenberg hands him another drink and his attention goes elsewhere.

“Alright, alright,” John says, a put-upon sigh professionally faked - Stiles _knows_ his father. “I’ll just finish up my report here and I’ll swing by for a little bit.”

“Yes!” Stiles calls out, “See you in a bit then!”

When he hangs up the phone, he goes back to his spot at the bar, next to Scott, who immediately hands him a fresh beer.

“The Chief will grace us with his presence in a few,” Stiles says, holding up his glass before taking a gulp.

“That’s great!” Allison calls out, while Erica whoops.

Derek nods approvingly at him from his bar stool.

“What did I miss?” Stiles asks, looking at his colleagues.

“The seventeenth phone call of Mrs Hernandez today,” Parrish sighs exasperatedly.

“Oh my God, is she at it again?” Isaac barks out a laugh.

“Who’s Mrs Hernandez?” Scott asks, intrigued.

“You don’t know Mrs Hernandez yet?” Cora all but shrieks, “Oh, Parrish, I am begging you, next time you need to send a team for her, let it be Scott!”

“Hey!” Allison calls out, “That’s punishing me too!” But she just laughs along with the rest of them.

“Mrs Hernandez is famous,” Derek mutters, grinning.

“Mrs Hernandez is a sweet old lady,” Parrish starts, “That has periods where she calls into Dispatch or shows up at the station about fifteen times a day to report a horrible crime.”

“Oh?” Stiles asks, raising his eyebrows.

“You see, her son’s organs are being harvested,” Parrish says, dead serious, “By the President of the United States.”

Allison and Cora start giggling, and even Derek can’t hide his chuckle.

“Wow…” Scott deadpans.

“Sometimes by the First Lady as well, depending on the mood,” Parrish goes on, “Either way, the Secret Service knows all about it and helps cover it up.”

“That’s quite the conspiracy,” Stiles grins, shaking his head.

“So much so that, when we actually called her son and asked him to come over the first time it happened…” Derek starts.

“Alive and well and all organs intact!” Boyd interjects.

“Alive and well,” Derek nods, “But she wouldn’t even believe _him_.”

“No, see, you don’t understand, Derek,” Parrish grins, “It’s _all_ part of the conspiracy. Even us!”

“That’s just…” Scott says, incredulous, “What do you even say to a person like that?”

Stiles shakes his head at his buddy’s rhetorical question before he remembers he still hasn’t told Scott the latest.

“Oh my God, Scott, you should’ve been there on this call we had today!” Stiles says, punching his friend in the shoulder as he nods his head towards Derek.

“Yes, thank you for that, by the way,” Derek glares at Parrish.

“Hey, people say it’s an emergency! I can’t afford not to send out a team!” Parrish raises his hands in front of him in defense, grinning.

He’s got his elbow leaning over Derek’s shoulder, and Stiles’ eyes are drawn to it, the way Derek seems so comfortable with Parrish. He knows it makes sense, after all the years they’ve spent working together, relying on each other… Stiles can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever have that with Derek. He wasn’t really sure he even wanted that - he was so set on being partnered with Scott - but the slight hint of jealousy that is creeping up on him should tell him enough.

“So what happened?” Scott asks, and the realization jolts through Stiles that he was about to tell a story but he got distracted… by Derek.

“Right, so!” Stiles says, shaking his head to clear it, and he sets down his glass on the bar. He speaks with his hands, alright? “We’re barely getting out of the car and this guy comes running out of his house, all but screaming bloody murder!” Stiles goes on, while Derek just grins leisurely, sipping from his drink. “And we’re like, guns out and everything, ‘cause he’s acting like there’s an intruder in the house!”

“ _Well_ …” Derek smirks, tilting his head.

“A ghost does not count as an intruder, Derek!” Stiles counters.

“Oh my God,” Kira snorts into her drink.

“It did to him!” Derek says with a smart-ass smile on his face that nearly blinds Stiles.

“The guy was convinced his house was possessed!” Stiles says, focusing on the others in hopes of finding some support there, sliding off his bar stool as he does so.

“Sometimes I think Beacon Hills attracts the crazies,” Cora says, and gets some agreeable muttering in response.

“So _this guy_!” Stiles goes on, gesturing towards Derek, “- goes into Ghost Busters mode or something, and asks for salt - _a fresh bag, nonetheless_ …”

“‘s important,” Derek mutters, and he’s just joking along with Stiles now.

“... and starts explaining to this guy how he can get rid of all spirits by lining the corners of the room with salt!” Stiles says, incredulous.

“That is brilliant!” Allison says, in awe.

“That is insane!” Stiles starts laughing.

“Insane but brilliant!” Scott giggles, and Stiles knows that giggle, that’s the giggle that only comes out when Scott has had a little bit too much to drink.

“We could’ve wasted an hour of our time trying to argue with this guy that ghosts aren’t real,” Derek says, while Parrish gestures towards the bartender for another round, “And he still wouldn’t have believed us. I just played along, the guy was reassured, everyone happy.”

“I know!” Stiles says, “I just… I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Derek looks up at him for that, a small but genuine smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“Oh, but Derek is the master of that kind of stuff,” Parrish says, swinging his arm entirely around Derek’s shoulder now as he compliments his friend, “You’d be surprised!”

“He managed to write a five page report of the theft of three tomatoes in some dude’s vegetable garden,” Allison laughs, and it’s hard to tell under the barlights but Stiles thinks Derek might be turning a bit red at all the attention he’s suddenly getting.

“How do you even fill one page with that?” Scott asks, shaking his head.

“Why do people even call us in for that?” Kira asks, rolling her eyes.

“I know, right?” Parrish says, “But Derek’s report was complete with a description of the small wooden fence they must’ve climbed over to get in the garden…”

“Surely aided by using the Ikea stool next to the fence as a step,” Derek mutters so fluently Stiles is _sure_ it comes straight out of the report.

“A description of the stolen vegetables,” Parrish goes on.

“Three young, innocent, crimson - almost _sanguine_ \- tomatoes, plucked in the prime of their life,” Derek whispers dramatically as the rest are in various degrees of giggling and chuckling.

“Oh my God, you did not,” Stiles puts his hand in front of his mouth, laughing.

“He did!” Parrish sniggers, putting his hand against the side of Derek’s head and pushing him away playfully, before leaning over the bar to pay for the drinks that have arrived.

“That report made the rounds, I can tell you,” Allison says, as Derek ducks his head, but it can’t hide the smile on his face, and it goes straight to the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

“So did you ever catch the thief?” Scott asks, and by the way the rest immediately start snorting, Stiles can tell they know what’s about to come.

“No…” Derek says, his face stoic, “Unfortunately I had to report that our investigation was… _fruitless_.”

And while everyone just bursts out in cackling laughter, Stiles is staring open mouthed at Derek, because _who fucking knew_?

“But you’re Officer Grumpy Cat!” Stiles’ mouth has lost all connection to his brain. Clearly. Or else he would not be blurting this out, but fuck, Stiles is so confused right now. He just wants to step over to Derek and climb him like a tree - and yeah, okay, maybe he’s had a little bit too much alcohol already, but this Derek, this new Derek? Is really fucking attractive, okay?

“Oh my God!” Kira covers her tittering as she facepalms, and Scott just groans and puts his hands on Stiles’ shoulders from behind as he says, “Oh, _dude_ …”

“Oh Lord, Stilinski went there!” Jackson laughs, shaking his head and showing absolutely no pity for Stiles.

“Officer who now?” Derek frowns, and there’s that scowl again and oh God, how many times can Stiles screw up?

“I…” Stiles stutters, looking down at the beer in his hand as if it holds any answers, but nope, it’s only the cause of his current embarrassment.

His friends - colleagues, but… yeah, they’re becoming friends - are no help at all. Cora is cackling so hard at the expense of her brother that Stiles thinks she might choke. Erica is chuckling as she’s busying herself with her phone, and Stiles can only imagine what she must be Googling right now.

“Officer Grumpy Cat,” Jackson says, leaning into Derek to make sure he gets it right, and Stiles prays to all the Dispatch Gods that the next smelly, disgusting body-search goes to Jackson.

“Oh my God,” Stiles mutters, burying his face in his hands and almost spilling his drink all over himself in the process.

“That’s an… interesting nickname,” Derek says, his eyes fixed on Stiles and Stiles can’t for the life of him figure out what that look means.

“Grumpy Cat!” Erica calls out triumphantly as she sticks her phone in Derek’s face, and oh God, Stiles can’t watch this.

**art by GirlEverAfter**

“Shoot me now, Scott,” Stiles whines at his friend, ducking his head on Scott’s shoulder as he closes his eyes, “You’ve always been a good friend. Just put me out of my misery already.”

“But then I’d miss all the fun,” Scott smirks, though he does offer a comforting hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“I take it all back,” Stiles groans into Scott’s shirt, “You’re the worst friend a man can have.”

“The likeness is striking, you gotta admit,” Cora says, taking any opportunity to tease Derek.

“None of you are helping…” Stiles heaves a dramatic sigh, “I have made a horrible mistake transferring to this department. I regret everything.”

“One thing you should know about Stiles is that he never ever exaggerates,” Scott says, deadpan, as he continues to pat him on the shoulder.

Stiles just makes a whimpering noise, while the rest are laughing amicably.

“I guess you’re gonna have to find me a new nickname,” Derek’s voice is suddenly in his ear, and a big warm hand resting right between Stiles’ shoulderblades. “Now that you know I’m not that terrible after all…”

“I never thought you were terrible!” Stiles’ head snaps up in a panic, but Derek is… actually smiling at him, crinkling laugh lines beside his eyes, his hand still a nice pressure on Stiles’ back.

“You’re…” Stiles hesitates, but nope, the smile is still in place. “You’re not gonna leave me for dead on our next mission?”

“And break in yet _another_ partner?” Derek raises his eyebrow, then gives him a look before smiling and pulling back with a pat on Stiles’ back.

Stiles lets out a deep breath of relief, and he’s too stunned by this new, relaxed - maybe a little bit buzzed - side of Derek to actually say anything back. Derek takes another gulp of his drink as he sits back down on his barstool, slightly glazed over eyes still lingering on Stiles as the others start chatting again, the noise drowned out in Stiles’ ears until Derek finally averts his eyes.

There’s a sudden yelp of excitement and cheering, and when Stiles looks around to see what the commotion is about, he finds that his father has walked in, giving them all a slightly awkward wave.

“Chief!” Scott calls out, immediately handing over his barstool to John, who promptly refuses.

“No, no, sit, Scott,” John mutters, urging Scott back into his seat.

“Welcome, Sir,” Parrish says as the Chief joins the group, nodding his hello to everyone. “Can I get you a drink?”

“How about _I_ buy everyone a round instead?” John smiles, and people start to cheer already, “It’s the least I can do for intruding on your evening.”

“No intrusion at all, Sir,” Allison says, “But we’ll gladly accept that round!”

There’s no disagreement there, and John says there’s no need for “Sir’s” now that they’re off the clock.

“Can I call you Chief Daddy then?” Stiles jokes, sticking out his tongue at his father.

“Are you sure you want to acknowledge the parental bond between us, kid?” John quips back, throwing an arm around Stiles. “I mean, you won’t be embarrassed in front of all your new colleagues?”

“Oh, Stiles has no trouble embarrassing himself all on his own,” Scott laughs, and Stiles and Derek’s eyes meet for a second.

“Oh boy,” John sighs with a smile, “I’m sure I don’t want to know. So what were you guys talking about?”

“The ridiculous calls we get sent on sometimes,” Kira says.

“And the insane people we meet!” Erica jumps in.

“Oh, like Mister Hayes?” John asks.

“Mister Hayes!” the bunch of them call out, with some kind of odd sentiment.

“Poor guy is dead now,” John says at Stiles, Scott, and Kira who are clearly the only ones that don’t know about Mister Hayes. “But Mister Hayes fancied himself somewhat of an… amateur policeman.”

“What amateur?” Derek snorts, “The man noticed everything!”

“He just had a… how shall we call it?” John ponders, “A hard time differentiating from knowing what was actually police business and what wasn’t.”

“As in?” Stiles asks, curious.

“Calling the police station from the supermarket because the cream cheese wasn’t being stocked in the same aisle as all the other cheeses?” John says.

“Oh my God,” Stiles mutters, because he’s heard a lot of stories over the years, but this one’s new to him.

“Or calling over a patrol team because strange men were constantly going in and out of that place on Cedar,” Parrish adds.

“Now, hey, hey, he was onto something there!” Allison interjects, “That place was a closeted whorehouse.”

“ _Massage parlor_ ,” Derek adds, doing quotes with his fingers.

“Yeah, right,” Cora snorts, “Remember when we sent in Boyd as an undercover customer?”

The way Boyd groans and starts flushing slightly tells Stiles that Boyd sure does remember.

“These jobs can go to Isaac now,” Boyd says, and Isaac spits up some of his drink before giving Boyd a look.

“Point is, Mister Hayes was observant!” John says.

“Maybe a little too observant,” Isaac says casually, his face the perfect picture of innocence, until they’re all looking at him expectantly. “Didn’t he catch Boyd and Erica making out in the squad car when they were still on patrol?”

“You little bastard!” Erica shrieks, swiping Isaac’s drink out of his hand and chugging it down in one go.

 _That_ , Stiles knew about. He remembers that evening when his father had ranted to him about professionalism and upholding an immaculate image towards the public, before admitting that he was actually quite happy for the two of them because he’d seen them pine over each other for ages. A big old softie, his dad.

“You realize you are getting the dirtiest, filthiest job in revenge, right?” Jackson laughs.

And just when Erica and Boyd want to lay out their defense, the group goes mostly quiet as their gazes are one by one fixed on the entrance of the bar. There’s a guy there, with short brown hair, couldn’t be much older than Stiles. He’s looking around the bar, everywhere but at Stiles and his colleagues. Derek slides off of his barstool, his entire body going rigid, as Parrish puts a hand on his chest to stop him… from what, Stiles has no idea. Jackson and Boyd seem to instinctively position themselves in front of Allison, whose slightly palish tint is the only thing that reveals anything as her face is set on warrior.

“He can’t be here!” Derek says, his jaw clenched so tight Stiles fears it might lock. And Stiles doesn’t need to ask who the young man is, Derek’s face says enough to him.

_Matt Daehler._

“He’s in violation of his parole,” Parrish says, his voice sounding a bit strangled. “He can’t come near Allison.”

“Okay, calm down,” John says, his business voice on, actually putting himself in between Daehler and his team. “There is no way to prove he knew Allison would be here in this bar.”

“Oh, come on, it’s Daehler, of course he knew!” Derek grits.

“I know that,” John says, slow and deliberate, “But you know how these things work, Derek. Besides, you have all had just a tad too much to drink for me to let you deal with this right now.”

“Chief…” Allison protests.

“Which is why _I_ will go deal with it, Allison,” John stresses, “You know how smart he is. One of you losing your temper would play right into his cards.”

“He’s right, guys,” Boyd says, and Daehler is right out looking smug now, taking a seat at a table near the window. “Let the Chief handle this, alright?”

There’s a tension in the air that could be cut with a knife. Parrish is whispering things in Derek’s ear, most likely trying to calm him down, but it doesn’t seem to have much effect.

“Be careful,” Stiles says softly to his father, who gives him a tight but reassuring smile, touching Stiles’ arm for a second before calmly walking over to the table Daehler just sat down at.

All eyes are on the Chief, and it’s making the nerves twitter in the pit of Stiles’ stomach. Daehler looks up at John when he approaches, greeting him with a wide and undoubtedly fake smile. Stiles can’t tell what his father is telling him, but the smile slowly but surely fades from Daehler’s face.

Subconsciously, Stiles has positioned himself next to Derek, who still looks about ready to explode. Stiles reaches over, wraps his fingers gingerly around Derek’s wrist and says, “You have faith in my dad, right? I can tell. So trust him on this, okay?”

Derek takes a deep breath, his eyes flitting over to Stiles’ for the tiniest moment before locking his gaze on Daehler again. But the tension seems to seep out of his body somewhat as he whispers back, “Yeah.” There’s a pause and then he says again, with a little bit more conviction now, “Yeah…” Stiles nods in agreement, letting go of Derek’s wrist - noting that Derek never actually pulled away - but staying shoulder to shoulder.

Eventually, Daehler gets up and leaves, but not before shooting the group a smug smirk that has tension rising again. John stands in the open doorway, surely watching until Daehler is good and well gone, before joining his team again.

“He claimed he didn’t know we’d be here,” John says, and gets a few scoffs in response. “I explained to him how this is somewhat of our regular bar, and so he’d be well advised not to frequent it too often, if he doesn’t want to be in violation of his terms.”

Allison nods firmly.

“And I reminded him that his curfew starts in 30 minutes anyway,” John says with a wry smile.

“That’s good,” Stiles says, trying to break the strain that’s been put on their evening. “We’re keeping him in line, right?”

John nods. “And the second he crosses that line, we’re getting him.” He claps his hands once, plastering a smile on his face. “Now come on! Who’s got the next round?”

There’s a beat, but then Stiles calls out, “I vote for Officer Grumpy Cat!” and the tension washes away as there’s rousing laughter again, and Derek grips the back of Stiles’ neck playfully with one big hand. He shakes his head, quietly amused, and their eyes meet for maybe a second too long in an understanding look that reaches Stiles into his very bones.

Then Derek lets go of Stiles’ neck with a deliberate stroke over the skin, and he starts making this noise that starts from somewhere deep inside his throat and rises up and it honest to God sounds like two cats going at it, high pitched and catty, and Stiles starts laughing so hard his eyes tear up.

“Round’s on me!” Derek calls out through the laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Derek was supposed to do the late shift with Stiles, but Allison had an appointment this morning - something about her grandfather being sick - so Derek and Allison switched shifts. Leaving Derek and Scott to do the morning shift together, and Allison and Stiles starting at noon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- See notes for chapter 1. 
> 
> \- [Beautiful art by GirlEverAfter!](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/89682923876/sterek-police-au-487-chapter-4)
> 
> \- If a certain something in this chapter reminds you of [this incredibly cute fanart](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/84005685948/pafhan-sterek-au-in-which-fireman-derek-got) made by Pafhan, that's because I was discussing this happening to me on twitter a while back, and Pafhan thought it was so cute she made a fanart based on it!

Derek and Stiles are partners, but that doesn’t mean they’re always working the same shifts. Sometimes one of them will have a day off. Sometimes the Chief will want to mix it up for a day. Or, like today, sometimes a colleague will ask to switch shifts.

Derek was supposed to do the late shift with Stiles, but Allison had an appointment this morning - something about her grandfather being sick - so Derek and Allison switched shifts. Leaving Derek and Scott to do the morning shift together, and Allison and Stiles starting at noon.

“So how’s your grandfather doing?” Stiles asks, bumping into Allison in the parking lot.

“Not that good,” Allison says, with a wry smile on her face. “He’s uhm… he’s been on the list for a heart transplant for a long time now, but it just doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen for him.”

“Oh man, I’m so sorry, Allison,” Stiles says, giving her a sympathetic look.

“Guess it’s just not meant to be,” Allison shrugs, putting on a brave face.

“I’m guessing there’s a lot of people on the transplant list?” Stiles asks, holding open the door for her.

“And not a lot of donors,” Allison nods sadly, and then Jackson is nearly running them over as he sprints down the hall.

“ _Jesus_ , Jackson!” Allison calls out after him.

“Fire waits for no one!” Jackson yells back, grabbing his gear.

“Where’s the fire?” Stiles asks, because if it’s big, they might have to skip briefing and head straight out.

“Apartment unit on High Street,” Jackson says, and he’s almost out the door when he adds, “Hale’s being checked by the paramedics.”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles asks, but the door slams shut and Jackson can’t hear Stiles calling after him anymore.

“Derek’s hurt?” Stiles turns to Allison, and there’s panic rising in his chest and for a second he doesn’t know what to do or how to move.

“It might be nothing,” Allison says, and then Stiles’ father is approaching them and Stiles can’t help but call out, “Dad?”

His father doesn’t correct him, doesn’t ask him to call him ‘Chief’, instead says, “There’s a big fire on High Street and they could use a few extra teams, so you can go straight out there and call into Dispatch from the car, okay?”

“Is Derek hurt?” Stiles asks, trying to quelch down the worry.

“He’s being checked for smoke inhalation,” John says, “There wasn’t much more over the radio, the Fire Department wasn’t there yet, so it was a bit chaotic.”

Stiles nods.

“Just get out there and be careful, okay?” John says, and Allison is already tugging Stiles by the arm, towards the gun lockers.

“We’re riding out as fast as we can, Chief,” Allison says.

Stiles puts on his uniform on automatic pilot, grabs his gun from the lockers, wraps himself into his bullet proof vest. Quickly, efficiently. But all the while, images are flooding his brain. Images of Derek not being able to breathe. Images of soot all over his face, of smoke in his lungs, of him gasping for air. Images of Derek stuck in a fire, and Stiles not being there to help him.

“He’ll be okay,” Allison says, when they’re driving out there, her voice barely audible over the sirens of the patrol car, as if she can read Stiles’ mind.

There’s no new information about Derek over the radio. There’s babble about the fire truck arriving at the scene, about the building being evacuated now, about blocking off the street, creating a safety perimeter.

There’s no answer on Derek’s phone. Stiles should know, he’s lost count of the times he’s tried calling now.

“He’ll be okay,” Stiles repeats, because there’s simply no other option.

They don’t say anything else on the way over there, and the drive across town seems to take an eternity, even in code 3. Stiles just keeps switching the sirens to another tone whenever Allison approaches an intersection, focusing on the task at hand.

The smoke is visible above the building from quite a distance, and when they finally arrive - Stiles announcing their arrival to Dispatch on automatic pilot - there’s flames coming out the windows on all the top floors, firefighters busying themselves, police officers making sure they have the space to work.

And then Stiles spots Scott, his hair tousled, his face sweaty and dirty, and he’s not sure how Allison even beats him to his side.

“Scott!” Allison calls out, and Scott looks a bit bewildered when he sees them run up to him.

“Hey,” Scott says, blinking a few times, “The building’s cleared. Everyone’s out. I think…” He looks back at the building on fire. “I think the Fire Department has it under control now.”

Stiles can feel the heat of the flames on his back, even from the more or less safe distance they’re standing at.

“Derek?” Stiles asks, even though he realizes he’s afraid of the answer he might get.

“He’s being checked out by the paramedics,” Scott says, pointing at the ambulance that’s parked a bit further, front towards them. “He went up pretty high into the smoke, to evacuate people.”

“Dammit,” Stiles mutters, and he doesn’t even listen to whatever else Scott has to say, he just hurries over to the ambulance, heart beating in his chest as he’s rounding the vehicle until he can see Derek sitting on the steps at the back of the ambulance, holding an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. He’s coughing into it, his eyes closed, his face covered in black, sooty swipes, his hair a mess.

Stiles stills for a second, taking in the sight of Derek looking… vulnerable. There’s something twisting inside Stiles’ chest, and then Derek is looking up, is looking right at him and he… smiles. He fucking smiles as wide as he can, pulling the oxygen mask off his face so he can talk to Stiles, and he’s breathing heavily as he says, “I saved a hamster.”

There’s a fraction of a moment that Stiles simply doesn’t understand the words coming out of Derek’s mouth, too centered on the way he looks, the way he’s coughing, the oxygen mask pressed in his hand.

“What?” Stiles asks, confused.

“I saved a hamster,” Derek says, grinning, his voice grainy. “From the fire,” he adds, before he goes into a coughing fit.

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles mutters, jolted into action as he hunches over Derek, grabbing the hand holding oxygen mask and pushing it towards his face. “Derek, just focus on breathing.”

Derek nods, wheezing a little bit as he breathes inside the mask again.

“What did you do…?” Stiles mutters to himself, one hand still over the one holding the mask to Derek’s face, the other somehow finding its way to the nape of Derek’s neck, offering support.

“Evacuating the building - ” Derek starts, pulling the mask back off his face, but then Stiles is gripping it more firmly, pressing it against his face again.

“Don’t you dare, Derek,” Stiles says, fixing him with a stare, “Stop talking and keep on this mask. I swear to God, if you risked your life for a hamster…”

“I’m fine,” Derek says, the sound muffled by the mask.

“Don’t even - ” Stiles says, closing his eyes as he shakes his head.

“And it wasn’t for a hamster,” Derek continues anyway, but at least he’s keeping the mask on. “I needed to make sure…” - cough - “... the people were out.” - cough - “And then I saw the hamster.”

“And you saved it,” Stiles says matter-of-factly, his hand still resting on the nape of Derek’s neck.

“Well, I took its cage out of the burning building, so…” Derek grins cheekily, Stiles can tell, even through the oxygen mask.

“And you got smoke inhalation while doing so?” Stiles says, and all of a sudden he is hit by the realization that Derek could’ve died. Right here, today. And he slaps his hand over his mouth to stop himself from… From what? He’s not sure yet. From blurting out something incredibly stupid? From crying? From yelling at Derek?

“I’m okay,” Derek says, nudging his shoulder against Stiles.

And Stiles wants to argue, wants to say that people that are “okay” aren’t breathing through oxygen masks, aren’t sitting in the back of an ambulance, don’t go running into burning buildings. But instead Stiles just presses his fingers into his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he can’t help but chuckle slightly and say, “You saved a hamster.”

And Derek grins, leaning a little bit into Stiles as he goes to sit down next to Derek on the steps of the ambulance, and says, “I saved a hamster.”

“Idiot,” Stiles shakes his head fondly, and leans back into the touch.

***

“I am fine,” Derek says for what seems like the hundredth time when they finally arrive at the hospital.

“Not gonna work, buddy,” Stiles says casually, parking the car in front of the hospital. Allison and Scott are pulling up right next to them, accompanying one of the ambulances that is transporting a civilian that got burnt while trying to put out the fire himself.

“I’m not even coughing anymore,” Derek says, rolling his eyes, his voice still rough.

“Listen, if the paramedics tell you to come into the hospital, I am taking you to the hospital,” Stiles says, determined, “I don’t even know why you’re still arguing with me. I’ll handcuff you myself if I have to.”

Derek looks at him, raising an eyebrow in an almost impressed manner.

“Shut up,” Stiles mutters, getting out of the car before Derek can catch him blushing.

“We’ll check in on the victim,” Scott says, gesturing towards the ambulance where they’re now wheeling out the man that has burn wounds on his arm. “You go with Derek.”

“‘kay!” Stiles calls back, letting Scott and Allison pass through the doors to the ER first, following the paramedics and their gurney.

Once inside, Stiles is greeted by a familiar face.

“Hey sweetie!” Melissa calls out, pulling Stiles into a hug. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“Not me,” Stiles says, turning towards Derek, still sooted and dirty and disheveled. “My partner here.”

And before Derek can even protest - He’s not hurt, yada yada, Stiles knows it by now - Stiles introduces the two of them.

“Melissa, this is Derek Hale, my partner,” Stiles says, and there’s a surge of pride rising up in his chest that he doesn’t quite understand, “Derek, this is Melissa McCall, Scott’s mom. And, obviously - ” Stiles gestures towards the scrubs Melissa is wearing. “ - a nurse here.”

“Nice to meet you,” Derek says.

“Likewise,” Melissa smiles gently, “Now, from the looks of it I’d say you were in that fire on High?”

She guides them towards one of the examination rooms.

“He saved a hamster!” Stiles calls out proudly, which earns him an embarrassed look from Derek as he hisses out his name.

Melissa laughs. “Job well done,” she says, leading them in the room and sitting Derek down onto one of the beds. “Now, just what did saving that hamster cost you?”

“Nothing,” Derek says, and Stiles can tell he’s holding in his exasperation. “I’m fine.”

“He’s also a lying liar who lies,” Stiles says, and as Derek tries to get up again, he pushes him back down on the bed with a firm hand on his shoulder. “He’s got smoke inhalation. He couldn’t stop coughing earlier. And the paramedics wanted him to come in just in case.”

“I’m not coughing anymore!” Derek says, vehemently, and as if on cue, he starts coughing again.

Stiles just flicks his hands at Derek pointedly as if to prove a point to Melissa. He is craftily ignoring Derek’s huff and scowl.

“Alright,” Melissa says, the smile never leaving her face, “Let’s check you out, just to make sure, okay?”

Derek sighs, but he nods anyway.

“Just to reassure your partner here, if anything,” Melissa says, sliding the stethoscope from her shoulders. “Because you know he’s not going to let up until a doctor takes a look at you, right?”

Stiles knows Melissa is basically just placating Derek, to get him to cooperate, and yet Stiles can’t help but say, a little vexed, “It’s called being a good partner!”

“Or a giant pain in the butt…” Derek mutters, but underneath the scowl and the scoffing, there’s a soft glance at Stiles.

“Why don’t you take that off so I can have a listen?” Melissa asks, nodding towards Derek’s shirt as she sticks the earbuds in her ears. “And maybe Stiles can wait in the hall, to give you some privacy?”

Before Stiles can even protest - he really _really_ doesn’t want Derek out of his sight right now - Derek is popping open the buttons on his uniform shirt and mutters, “‘s fine. He can stay, I don’t mind.”

And Stiles wants to say thank you, wants to say something quippy or silly, but then Derek’s sliding his shirt off, revealing smooth shoulders and squared abs and a hint of chest hair, and the words get stuck in his throat because _Jesus Fucking Christ_ , he can’t keep his eyes off the V bracketing Derek’s navel and running down to the waistband of his pants, or the way his collar bones stick out just a little bit and Stiles thinks that his teeth might fit perfectly around them and - _fuck_.

Fuck.

Stiles is so screwed.

“Can you take a deep breath?” Melissa asks Derek, holding the chestpiece of her stethoscope over Derek’s thorax.

Derek does so, provoking a tiny cough in the process. Melissa listens, then listens some more, and it’s driving Stiles insane because he just needs to know that Derek is alright.

“Is it bad?” Stiles blurts out, but Melissa looks at him with a smile and a tilt of the head, then wraps the stethoscope around her neck again as she looks at Derek.

“Your lungs sound mostly clear,” Melissa tells him, reassuringly, “A doctor will come and see you soon, do a pulse oximetry. But your skin color’s good, your eyes aren’t red… Those are all good signs. I think you’re gonna be just fine.”

“Thank fuck,” Stiles lets out, leaning down with his hands on his knees.

When Melissa snaps her head at him sharply, he offers a small apology for the cursing.

“Thank you,” Derek says politely, and even though he claimed to be “just fine” earlier, Stiles can tell he’s relieved as well. And… still shirtless.

“Alright then,” Melissa says, giving Stiles a pat on the shoulder while he’s still hunched over. “You boys just wait here for a bit and Doctor Martin will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks, Mrs McCall,” Stiles says sheepishly, but Melissa smiles at him fondly as she presses a kiss against his temple before leaving the room.

Stiles looks back at Derek, with his smudgy face and shaggy hair.

“When my mom died, Mrs McCall was kinda…” he trails off, not quite sure what to say, how to do it justice.

But Derek just nods, warmly, and says, “I get it.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, rubbing the back of his neck as he starts to look around the room for a distraction - ‘cause Derek is still shirtless - while they wait for Lydia.

Derek fishes his phone out of his pants, studying it for a second.

“Twenty-four missed calls?” Derek asks, staring up at Stiles again.

“You didn’t pick up!” Stiles calls out, accusingly.

_**Art by GirlEverAfter** _

“I was a little bit busy, Stiles,” Derek counters.

“Yeah, busy getting hurt and not responding to me when I needed to know that you were alright!” Stiles says, maybe a little bit too forceful.

“Do you really think I could hear my phone over all that - ?” Derek starts arguing back, then stills as his lips part and he looks at Stiles curiously, almost in wonder. “You were seriously worried about me,” Derek says, and it doesn’t sound like a question but a dawning realization.

Stiles huffs, crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What do you think, idiot?” Stiles scoffs, ignoring the way his cheeks heat up.

“I really am alright,” Derek stresses, and he doesn’t mock Stiles for his concern.

“I get that we have to do what we have to do on the job,” Stiles says, craftily avoiding Derek’s eyes. “But can you maybe indulge me afterwards, when it comes to getting some medical attention?”

“Yeah, okay,” Derek says, nodding, “I think I can do that.”

“Good,” Stiles huffs, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Then he mutters, “I know Parrish probably wasn’t such an annoying wimp as me, but…”

“You’re not annoying,” Derek says, firmly. “Or a wimp.”

Stiles looks up at him, finally meeting his eyes.

“And Parrish was usually the one getting hurt, by the way,” Derek says, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh great, so he never had to bug you about this,” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“This isn’t a contest, you know?” Derek says, plucking at his uniform shirt that’s laying out on the hospital bed beside him. “And I’m not going around constantly comparing the two of you.”

“I know that,” Stiles says, and he knows that Derek can tell it’s a lie. He doesn’t know why he wants to measure up to Parrish so badly. All he knows is that the mere thought of Derek hurt today scared him more than he’d ever thought. That if he got a choice between sending Derek into a burning building or running in there himself, he’d do the thing that kept Derek safe each and every time. And he knows he isn’t supposed to feel this way, probably. Not if Derek doesn’t mean something else to him, besides just a work partner. But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Derek isn’t just that. Somehow, he’s… become more.

And Stiles is so completely and utterly screwed.

The door swings open then, and Lydia walks in, looking stylish, even in her white labcoat.

“Good afternoon, Officers,” she beams as she’s looking down at Derek’s chart, “And what can I do for you fine gentlemen of the Beacon Hills PD today?”

The door to the room slides shut slowly, and Stiles’ head snaps up as he catches a glimpse of the figure in green scrubs walking down the hallway before he goes out of view.

“Well, I just made a promise to my partner to indulge him whenever he thinks I am injured, so…” Derek starts, with a smart grin on his face.

“Derek…” Stiles mutters, his eyes still fixed on the door.

“I see the paramedics were worried about smoke inhalation,” Lydia says, as Stiles inches closer to the door.

“Derek…” Stiles says again, more forcefully now.

“What?” Derek asks, hopping off the bed.

“Matt,” Stiles says, pulling the door open and sticking his head out in the hallway. Matt is nowhere to be seen. “Matt Daehler was walking down the hall in green nursing scrubs.”

“ _What?_ ” Derek hisses, hurrying over to the door as well, where he presses himself up against Stiles to be able to look over his shoulder into the hall.

“He’s gone now,” Stiles says, his voice a whispered hush, “But I swear to God, it was him.”

“Officer Hale?” Lydia calls out from inside the room. “I still need to examine you?”

“Right…” Derek says, glancing over at Lydia, then back at Stiles. “See if you can track him down. And… I don’t know, maybe ask Scott’s mom if he’s working here now? I know his parole agreement is that he needs to get a job, but…”

“On it,” Stiles says, immediately making a start to head after Daehler, then turning on his heels to grab Derek by the - naked - shoulder and point at Lydia. “You do whatever she says, no discussion.”

Lydia just looks smugly at him as Derek rolls his eyes but nods anyway, and then Stiles hurries down the hallway, around the corner where Daehler must’ve disappeared. He’s nowhere to be seen, not even after Stiles covers the entire floor and eventually bumps into Melissa again.

“Mrs McCall!”

“Stiles! Did your friend see the doctor yet?” she asks, rubbing disinfectant over her hands.

“He’s in there with her now,” Stiles says, somewhat absentmindedly.

“He’ll be fine, you know,” Melissa says, reassuringly. “I know you’re worried.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, ducking his head a little bit. “Mrs McCall, do you know if there’s a Matt Daehler working at the hospital?”

“Daehler?” Melissa asks, frowning. “It doesn’t sound familiar. But I can check if you want?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you so much,” Stiles says, shooting her a smile. “Just let Scott know if you find out, alright?”

She nods at him.

“I gotta go back to Derek now,” Stiles says, hooking his thumbs towards Derek’s examination room.

He calls Scott before going back into the room, tells him and Allison to keep an eye out for Daehler. By the time he’s hanging up the phone, Lydia has already left, and Derek is putting on his shirt again.

“Did you find him?” Derek asks, pausing mid-button as Stiles walks in.

Stiles shakes his head. “But Mrs McCall’s gonna check. How are you?”

“I’m - ” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off.

“Don’t say ‘fine’!”

“I get to go home,” Derek says instead, “If I start throwing up, I have to come back. And I might have some shortness of breath and a slight headache, but it’s all good, Stiles.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, a flood of relief washing over him.

“Yeah,” Derek nods, shooting him a smile. It’s genuine and heartfelt and Stiles can only respond in kind.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stiles can tell it’s bad the second they arrive. It’s_ really _bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- See notes for chapter 1. 
> 
> \- Warning: If you want to be safe, please see notes at the end of the chapter regarding death in this chapter.
> 
> \- [Beautiful Art by GirlEverAfter!](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/91160724901/sterek-police-au-487-chapter-5)

Stiles can tell it’s bad the second they arrive. It’s _really_ bad.

He’s announcing their arrival over the radio as he gets out of the car.

They’re the first on the scene. The first of the rescue responders anyway, because there are some cars stopped nearby, a group of people standing around, panicking. The car they’re all focusing on is upside down, the roof squished down, windows shattered and pieces of metal everywhere. There are skid marks leading towards it.

Derek is calling for an ambulance when Stiles finally sees them… the people in the car. There’s a woman behind the wheel, upside down, her head at an unnatural angle. There’s blood all over her face, her eyes closed, and Stiles doesn’t need to check her pulse to know that the way her neck is bent… there’s nothing more they can do.

There’s a young man sitting in the passenger seat. His hands are shaking as he looks out in front of him, blinking away blood from his eyes. He’s hanging upside down as well, in the wreckage of the car, held up by his seatbelt.

There’s a woman yelling, “It just went off the road!” as the group of people inch closer to Stiles and Derek.

Derek is asking them to stay around, for later statements, but to give them some space to work, to make sure the ambulance can get through. There’s a second police car arriving - it’s Jackson and Kira - and Stiles is following Derek blindly towards the wreckage of the car.

“Holy shit…” Stiles breathes out, his voice shaking, as he takes in the sight before them.

“Detach yourself,” Derek whispers at him, a hand firmly around Stiles’ upper arm, “For now.”

Stiles nods, knowing that Derek is right, and he slides to his knees on the passenger side of the car, next to the injured man. Derek rounds the car, he’s yelling something at Kira and Jackson, about creating a perimeter, before appearing at the other end of the car, next to the driver.

“Sir?” Stiles asks, hunching down to look through the small opening of the crushed window, trying to make contact with the passenger. “Sir, can you hear me?”

There’s no immediate reaction, only more shaking.

“Sir, this is the police. The ambulance is on its way,” Stiles says, slowly, clearly, “We’re gonna do everything to get you out of here, okay?”

The man blinks a few times, then coughs out a small puff of air, laced with blood. The top of his head is squashed against the ceiling of the car.

“Can you hear me?” Stiles asks again, picking out a few sharp edges of the broken window with his gloved hands, so there’s better access to the man.

The man hardly moves his neck, but his eyes shift and fall on Stiles then, wide and panicked.

“Hey there,” Stiles says, “My name is Stiles. I’m with the police, okay? We’re gonna help you.”

The man blinks, and Stiles tilts his head a bit because he thinks that maybe he’ll understand better if the entire world isn’t upside down.

He glances over at Derek for a second, who catches his eyes but shakes his head regretfully, indicating that the woman is dead. There’s a surge of anxiety rising up in his chest, the knowledge that no matter what they do from here on out, they were too late for the woman settling uneasily in his stomach.

“Can you tell me your name?” Stiles asks the man, plucking out the last few shards of the glass and throwing it on the asphalt.

“T-Tim,” the man croaks out through blood-coated lips.

Stiles does his best not to wince at the sound of the man’s - Tim’s - voice.

“Hey there, Tim,” Stiles says, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, “It’s good to hear you talk.”

There’s noise behind Stiles, Jackson communicating with Dispatch, Kira telling people to please step back. The gleam of the flashing lights reflecting in the door of the car. And then Derek is by his side again, sliding on his stomach so he can look into the wreck of the car.

“Tim, this is my partner, Derek,” Stiles says, trying to get some eye-contact back with the guy. “He’s here to help you, too.”

“Hey Tim,” Derek says, sliding his hand inside the car, reaching for Tim’s hand. “Can you tell us where it hurts?”

Derek’s gloved hand curls around Tim’s carefully, and Tim looks up at it, blinking like he’s trying to focus his eyes but can’t quite.

“A-all over,” Tim says, trembling, “I… I can’t move.”

“That’s okay, don’t try to move, Tim,” Stiles says, and Tim’s eyes land on him again. “The Fire Department’s gonna do that for us, alright? Don’t worry about it.” He tries a weak smile.

“Char- lotte,” Tim croaks out, stopping halfway for breath, and Stiles doesn’t have to ask who Charlotte is. The tears threatening to spill out of the man’s eyes say enough.

Stiles swallows hard, his eyes glancing over at Derek for a second. Derek opens his mouth, surely to take the difficult task away from Stiles, but then Tim grunts, and whispers, “She’s gone…” Stiles thinks that the last time he’s heard a man sound so broken was his father after his mother died. He tries to swallow away the memory.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles says, reaching out, his hand on the man’s arm. He’s feeling wildly inadequate.

Tim spits out some more blood, coughing around it.

“Where is that ambulance?” Stiles hisses at Derek, as if Derek somehow has all the answers for him.

“On its way,” Derek says, and he’s crawling up again as he adds, “I’ll check.”

Stiles nods, turning his attention back to Tim. He takes the hand that Derek has now let go of into his, squeezing a little bit.

“I’m… scared,” Tim says, his words getting more and more difficult to understand. But the fear is clear in his eyes.

“I know,” Stiles says, positioning himself on his side, so that he can be a little bit more level with the man.

He lets go of Tim’s hand for only a second, to tug off his gloves and throw them to the ground, and immediately holds onto it again. Tim’s hand is slick from the blood, but Stiles holds it in his anyway.

“I know, buddy,” he says again, and Tim smiles weakly at him.

**Art by GirlEverAfter**

Stiles isn’t sure how long it takes for the Fire Department and the ambulance to get there. He knows that in reality, it’s all probably just a matter of a few minutes, the time of their arrival to the scene until Derek comes back, paramedics in tow. He knows that time can feel distorted at moments like this, where every second seems to count. Where he’s holding a man’s hand in his final moments.

The man - Tim. It’s not a name Stiles will likely forget - shoots a weak smile at him through bloodied lips, looks straight in his eyes through unshed tears, and then he tilts his head a little to the other side, to look at the woman next to him.

Stiles opens his mouth, wants to say something, _anything_ , but he can feel Tim’s hand go slack in his. Stiles doesn’t let go for… he isn’t sure how long. It could be seconds. Minutes. Hours. And then Derek is back by his side, saying he’s got the paramedics, and Stiles finally - already? - lets go of Tim’s hand, and crawls up to his feet.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, as the paramedics take Stiles’ place, and Stiles looks down at his hands, blood caked on them.

“He’s gone,” Stiles whispers, then clears his throat, looking away from Derek to hide the sting in his eyes.

“Stiles…” Derek starts, and Stiles knows that if he turns around and faces Derek right now, sees the concern and worry in his eyes, feels maybe a comforting hand on his shoulder… he isn’t going to be able to get himself together again.

So he sniffs once, swallows hard, and takes a deep breath. He’s got a job to do. Even if the people in the car didn’t make it, their work isn’t done.

“Lets start taking statements,” Stiles says, nodding as he turns towards Derek, but doesn’t look him in the eye.

“I can take care of that if you want to go sit in the car maybe?” Derek says, softly, “Take a moment.”

“I’d rather work,” Stiles says, honestly, and Derek nods.

“Okay,” he says, giving Stiles an encouraging smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let me know if you change your mind, alright?”

“Sure thing,” Stiles says, too perky, too _normal_. But he knows that Derek knows.

Stiles takes one of the bottles of water out of the trunk of the car and starts washing the blood off his hands. He doesn’t look down to watch the water turn pink until he’s sure they’re clean again.

Kira and Jackson are already taking statements from witnesses. Allison and Scott - who have also arrived - are coordinating with the Fire Department and the paramedics. So Stiles and Derek start taking measurements - skid marks, impacts on the car. Stiles writes down the numbers Derek gives him, and he tries to avoid looking inside the car, where firefighters are still busy working.

Eventually, Stiles and Derek find themselves at the police station again. First on scene means making the report and Derek is typing things out while Stiles makes the factual diagram, puts together the photographs, makes calls to notify the families. It’s when he comes back from a bathroom break that he finds Derek handing a stack of papers to the Chief. They’re talking, voices hushed a bit when Stiles arrives.

“Are you alright, son?” his father asks, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“Fine, Dad,” Stiles says, forcing himself to return the smile.

John looks over at Derek, nodding as he does, then holds up the report.

“I’ll go check this then, make sure it goes out,” John says, then tilts his head, “Good work, both of you.”

Stiles wonders how ‘good work’ can result in two deaths, but he nods anyway, says, “Don’t work too hard, okay?”

“No worries,” John says, placing his hand on Stiles’ neck for a second, thumb rubbing over his cheek. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

Stiles nods again, not trusting himself to say anything. And then his father shares a knowing look with Derek before walking back into his office.  

“Come on,” Derek says, “We should hit the shower.”

Stiles looks around them, somewhat confused.

“Our shift ended three hours ago,” Derek says softly.

“Oh…” Stiles says, realizing he has completely lost all notion of time.

“Come on,” Derek says, putting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder to guide him along. Stiles leans into the touch subconsciously.

It’s when they’re in the locker room, getting ready to shower, and Stiles is unbuttoning his shirt - a bit dirty from where he lay on the ground - that Derek says, “Lets go have drinks for a bit, alright?”

“I…” Stiles says, slipping out of his pants. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, “Just a few drinks, talk a bit.”

“I don’t know, Derek…” Stiles sighs, the thought of socializing crippling him right now.

“What else are you gonna do, Stiles?” Derek asks, and it’s only then that Stiles notices that Derek is already undressed, turning on not only his own shower, but also the one in the stall next to him, for Stiles. “Go home and crawl straight into bed?” Derek continues, “What do you think will run through your head the entire time?”

“And so… what?” Stiles asks, reaching his hand out under the spray - it’s warm already, thanks to Derek. “I distract myself from it. I go have drinks like some sort of palate cleanser?”

Derek is looking at him from over the low wall separating the showers.

“I guess,” he says, stepping under the spray.

“And it’s just that easy?” Stiles asks, following Derek’s example, letting the hot water cascade over him.

“Nothing about this day has been easy, Stiles,” Derek says, barely audible over the rush of water. There’s a slight pause, but then Derek adds, “Except maybe working with you.”

Stiles is afraid to look up, to look at Derek and see the honesty in his face, afraid to blurt out something clingy and needy because he has no idea how Derek somehow became the most important person in his life. So he ducks his head and nods, closing his eyes as he lets the water wash over his face.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispers, but he’s sure Derek can hear him.

They stay quiet for the rest of the shower, Derek finishing up first and stepping out to grab his towel. It’s probably a testament to how out of it Stiles is that he doesn’t try to check out Derek’s ass, now that he can.

“Can we…?” Stiles asks when he makes it out into the locker room as well, wrapped up in his towel. “Can we maybe have drinks at your place, or mine or something? I don’t really feel like facing people.”

“And I’m not people?” Derek asks, the edges of his lips curling up.

“You I can handle,” Stiles says, risking a smile and it doesn’t even feel forced.

“We’ve come a long way,” Derek says, his teeth peeking out as he smiles genuinely. Stiles kinda likes those bunny teeth a whole lot. He kinda likes Derek a whole lot.

“Whatever you say…” Stiles says, smirking as he turns away from Derek to collect his clothes, “... Officer Grumpy Cat.”

***

“Nah…” Stiles says as Derek offers him another beer, “I kinda don’t want to get drunk, you know?”

Derek nods, like he understands, and doesn’t take a new one either. Instead, he takes two bottles of water out of the fridge, handing one to Stiles.

Derek’s couch is comfortable, his loft bigger than Stiles had expected. Very open, spacious.

“Who has a bed in the middle of the living room?” Stiles asks, shaking his head amused, looking at the big bed on the other side of the room.

Derek shrugs, giving it a look as well, as if he never truly realized he wasn’t sleeping in a separate bedroom.

“I like it here,” Derek says, eventually, giving Stiles a smile. “It’s so open. I like not feeling like the walls are closing in on me while I sleep.”

Stiles nods, takes a moment to think.

“I guess you’ve had stuff like this happen before?” Stiles asks as Derek sits back down on the couch, hiking his leg up underneath him. Derek’s knee is resting lightly against Stiles’ thigh.

“Not… not exactly like this,” Derek says, “It’s okay to be upset. You know that, right?”

Stiles sucks his lip between his teeth. In a way, he doesn’t want to admit to what he’s feeling. That he can still feel Tim’s hand in his, going slack.

“When I said to detach…” Derek starts, putting his bottle on the coffee table as he turns towards Stiles, placing his hand on Stiles’ knee, “It was only in the moment. So you could get your work done, which you did. But you need to take a moment and deal with it.”

“I don’t…” Stiles shakes his head. He wants to clear it. He wants the confusion to stop. “I don’t know how to, and… it all feels so weird. I mean, I didn’t _know_ these people.”

“You knew them today,” Derek says, and Stiles can feel Derek’s palm radiating heat over his knee, all the way through his jeans.

Stiles lets out a shuddering breath and tilts back his head. He feels so stupid for the prickling in his eyes, the way tears threaten to spill. But Derek’s hand squeezing slightly, thumb rubbing over the fabric of his pants... it feels reassuring.

“I feel… like I don’t know how to give it a place,” Stiles admits, almost whispering.

“That sounds fair,” Derek says back, equally soft.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me to man up, that I’ll get over it?” Stiles says, huffing out some laughter as he blinks his eyes rapidly.

“You _will_ get over it, eventually,” Derek says, “But I’m never gonna tell you not to feel anything when a man has died right in front of you, Stiles.”

Maybe it’s hearing the words out loud, maybe it’s the fact that Derek is basically validating his feelings that has the first tears finally spilling over his face. He doesn’t know.

“You’re not the guy that I thought you were before I started working here,” Stiles admits, giving Derek a smile through tear-streaked cheeks.

“Neither are you,” Derek says, ducking his head, and Stiles thinks he might see the hint of a blush.

“I’m glad I got partnered with you,” Stiles whispers, tilting his head down as he reaches out his hand to come to rest above Derek’s knee.

Derek is wearing sweatpants, the fabric thin underneath his fingers, and he can feel Derek’s hard muscle underneath, feeding the barely restrainable urge to slide his hand up higher, wanting all the intimacy Derek can give.

“Sometimes I think it was the worst idea the Chief ever had,” Derek says, chuckling softly, and Stiles can feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. “But sometimes…” Derek trails off, shaking his head minutely.

He doesn’t go on, just lets the silence linger between them until Stiles can’t take it anymore and asks, “Sometimes…?”

He looks at Derek now, at Derek who is biting his lip between his teeth, who is tightening his fingers on Stiles’ knee a little bit. And then he swallows hard and shakes his head, pushing himself off the couch in a rush, turning his back on Stiles.

“This is a really bad idea,” Derek sighs, hurried, bringing his hand up to rake it through his hair.

“What?” Stiles asks, confused.

“This is…” Derek says, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, and he looks kind of pained. “I can’t.”

“Derek?” Stiles says, completely thrown. He gets up off the couch, closing the distance between them. “I thought you were okay working with me now? I thought… I thought we were doing so well now, and…?”

“ _God_ , of course we are,” Derek says, finally looking at him again. “Don’t you get it? This is too… we’re getting too…” He lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Too close?” Stiles asks, realization dawning on him with a beat.

Derek catches his gaze for a moment, his lips pressed tightly together as he exhales sharply through his nose. “Too close,” he repeats, his eyes never leaving Stiles’.

“Is that - ?” Stiles starts, gathering together all of his courage. “Is that such a bad thing, though?”

“I…” Derek looks confused, a little lost, and it just makes Stiles want to wrap him up in his arms and never let go, if he’s completely honest. “I wasn’t going to let this happen.”

“With me?” Stiles frowns.

“With you, with anyone,” Derek says, “The cliché of sleeping around the force, I wasn’t going to let that be me.”

“We’d hardly be the only ones,” Stiles blurts out, snorting, until he realizes that that is exactly the wrong thing to say to Derek right now. Because it’s exactly what he doesn’t want. “Okay, that came out wrong,” Stiles says, rushed, holding up his hands as if he’s defending himself.

“It came out exactly the way it is,” Derek says, fixing Stiles with a stare.

“Okay…” Stiles says, and he just… he wants to rewind, to go back to a few minutes ago when Derek’s hand was still on his knee, and Derek didn’t feel like they were getting too close. “Okay,” Stiles says again, because he doesn’t want to lose Derek’s comfort, not right now, not today, after everything they’ve been through. “Can we not do this?” he asks, his eyes pleading with Derek’s. “Not right now? I just…”

“Okay,” Derek nods, his eyes landing on Stiles’.

They’re quiet for a second, until Derek asks, “Do you want to stay the night? I can take the couch.”

Stiles smiles, relief flooding over him at Derek’s request. “Couch looks comfy. I can… it’s fine for me.”

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, looking between the bed and the couch somewhat awkwardly, “I mean, I’ve fallen asleep on the couch before, it’s not too bad, I can…”

“Then I’ll be able to fall asleep on it too,” Stiles says, giving Derek what he hopes is a convincing smile. “If I can just borrow a pillow and a blanket maybe?”

“Of course,” Derek says, rolling his eyes, moving towards the closet to grab some stuff.

“And uhm…?” Stiles asks, teeth scraping over his bottom lip. “Do you maybe have some sweatpants and a shirt I could borrow as well?”

“Yeah, sure,” Derek says, reaching in the closet. “Heads up.” He says before throwing said clothing at Stiles, which he only just catches, somewhat clumsily.

“The bathroom’s through there,” Derek says, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the bathroom, even though Stiles already knew, having gone there earlier. He doesn’t mention it though, just nods, and heads there with Derek’s clothes clutched to his chest.

When he comes back out - Derek’s sweatpants hanging loosely from his hips, the shirt a bit broad on his shoulders - Derek has laid out some sheets over the couch, a blanket folded neatly in the middle, and a pillow at the end. Derek is sitting on the side of his bed, fiddling with his phone, and it takes all Stiles has not to go sit next to him, to fall into the soft sheets, maybe to fall into Derek’s embrace.

But Derek doesn’t want that, he was clear enough. Well, Stiles thinks that Derek probably does want it, but really doesn’t _want_ to want it. Which makes Stiles think for a brief second that maybe if he goes over anyway, if he initiates some contact, maybe he could convince Derek…? But that thought disappears quickly, because Derek has said no, and that should really be enough for Stiles. It doesn’t quite help with the longing deep inside of him though.

Stiles thinks that maybe he wants to talk a bit longer, but then Derek disappears into the bathroom as well, and when he comes back out - wearing shorts and an old, ratty shirt - he heads straight for the bed. The bed that is standing in the middle of the living room, not even ten feet away from the couch, and it suddenly dawns on Stiles that they’re gonna be sleeping in the same room. Just goes to show how distracted he is today, seeing as the bed’s always been there, and Stiles feels ridiculously self-conscious and awkward all of a sudden.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek says as he stretches himself out on his stomach, under the covers.

“Night,” Stiles whispers, spreading the blanket out over himself as his head hits the pillow and damn… Stiles really isn’t used to a flat pillow, usually sleeps on two, and fuck, he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so uncomfortable. He twitches a bit on the couch, twisting and turning until his eyes fall on the extra pillow on Derek’s bed, the one he’s not using.

“What?” Derek asks, mumbling as his face is squished against his own pillow. He’s staring at Stiles through half-closed eyelids though.

“Are you using that pillow?” Stiles asks, nodding towards the one next to Derek, feeling like a little child.

But then Derek chuckles, and smiles genuinely as he rolls over on his back, grabbing the pillow and swiftly throwing it right at Stiles’ head. It hits him square in the face.

“You did that on purpose,” Stiles laughs, beating the pillow into submission before shoving it under his head.

“You can’t prove a thing,” Derek smiles, still looking at Stiles, tugging his sheets up to his chin.

“That’s what you think,” Stiles scoffs, finally relaxing back into the couch, “I have detecting skills you’ve never even heard of.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek says, and Stiles has never heard this much affection in Derek’s voice. It awakens a ball of warmth right in the middle of his chest, impossible to ignore.

“You’re just jealous,” Stiles counters, adding a little wink.

“That must be it,” Derek grins as he closes his eyes, humming contently.

There’s a silence for a second, and then Stiles can’t help but whisper, “Hey, Derek?”

There’s a low murmur from the depth of Derek’s throat.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, softly, but he needs to get the words out, “You know, for today.”

“Anytime, Stiles,” Derek says, low, “I’m here for you.”

Stiles nods into his pillow, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He closes his eyes, Derek’s words finding a place somewhere centered in his chest, and he inhales deeply as he feels sleep taking over.

The pillow smells like Derek.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the off- and ON-screen deaths of minor, original characters.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Dude,” Scott says by way of introduction as he’s sliding into the booth of the diner where they’re meeting for lunch, “According to my mom, Daehler doesn’t work at the hospital.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [Tumblr post with amazing fanart by GirlEverAfter here.](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/92228659556/sterek-police-au-487-chapter-6)
> 
> \- Beta by Space.

“Dude,” Scott says by way of introduction as he’s sliding into the booth of the diner where they’re meeting for lunch, “According to my mom, Daehler _doesn’t_ work at the hospital.”

“What?” Stiles frowns, closing his menu and staring at Scott. “But then what the hell was he doing there in scrubs?”

“I don’t know, but it can’t be good,” Scott says, grabbing Stiles’ drink and taking a sip. “Man, I’m so thirsty.”

“Hey!” Stiles calls out indignant, snatching the glass back, the straw popping from Scott’s mouth and spritzing some Coke in his face. “Get your own!” He laughs.

Scott scrubs his hand over his face, picks up a menu and starts rifling through it.

“You should tell your dad,” he says, absentmindedly.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, opening his menu again as well, even though he’s pretty sure he knows what he’s going to get, “And Derek.”

He doesn’t miss the quick raised eyebrow Scott gives him, but then their waitress announces herself at the table and takes their orders.

“So hey, uhm…” Stiles clears his throat when the waitress has taken off and he’s fumbling with his napkin. “How are things going between you and Allison? I mean, uh, you like her, right?”

“Oh yeah, she’s great,” Scott says enthusiastically, “And I’m learning a lot from her. I’m sure you are from Derek too, right?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Stiles nods, pressing his lips together for a second as he contemplates going on, “But I mean, like… Do you _like_ her?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Scott says, his eyes going wide, “I… well, I mean, she’s great. But, uhm… well, so is Kira, to be honest, and I don’t know. I guess I haven’t really thought abo- _Wait_!” Scott’s eyes are positively bulging now, and he lowers his voice to a whisper as he asks, “ _Do you like Allison_?”

Stiles groans slightly, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. “Of course not,” he hisses, even though he has no idea why, since there isn’t anyone in the diner trying to overhear them.

“Then why did you…?” Scott asks, frowning, as he leans a little closer over the table.

“Scott, you didn’t miss the part where I really haven’t been interested in girls for years now, right?” Stiles asks, biting the inside of his lip.

“D’uh!” Scott says, rolling his eyes, “But I remember Lydia Martin, alright? It could happen.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles concedes, because he has been known to crush on girls as well. Just… not lately. And then Derek came along, and he’s really all Stiles can think about right now, if he’s totally honest. “I actually…” Stiles sighs, lowers his voice a bit, “I meant Derek.”

“Oh man…” Scott says, leaning back as he slumps back down in his seat.

“Don’t give me that,” Stiles scoffs, twisting his face together in a scowl.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Scott defends himself.

“I can feel you disapproving from a mile away,” Stiles sighs.

“Dude, you can feel your own head up your ass, is what you feel,” Scott snorts, shaking his head.

“I just… I don’t know, man,” Stiles goes on, wilfully ignoring Scott’s comment, “He’s not at all how I thought he’d be.”

“I know you’ve been getting along lately…” Scott says.

“It’s more than that,” Stiles says, a dreamy sigh escaping him, and then he just wants to slap himself for being such a cliché.

“So, what? Are you two…?” Scott asks, trailing off.

Stiles shakes his head, sadly. “He uhm… He kinda turned me down.”

“What?” Scott asks, leaning back over the table, his eyes fixed on Stiles. “You asked him out?”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Stiles says, thinking back to that evening, “It was… I don’t know, I think we were so close to getting somewhere, to… There was something between us. But then he kinda freaked out, saying that he was afraid we were getting too close. He kinda shut it down, and I didn’t want him to close off completely, so I asked if we could just drop it, and… I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Scott says, all but pouting as he gives Stiles a sad look.

“Yeah…” Stiles says, then shrugs.

He wants to comment on how it’s fine - even though it really isn’t - but then Scott’s phone is beeping and he’s reaching into his pocket to fish it out. His thumb swipes the screen and then his face lights up, positively beaming.

“It’s Allison,” he starts.

“Ah, see!” Stiles starts to comment, giving Scott a wink.

“No, no,” Scott shakes his head, still beaming at the screen. “It’s about her grandfather! He got a transplant!”

“What?” Stiles frowns, because he remembers Allison talking about this to him, “He got a new heart? Wow. I thought Allison said it was such a long shot?”

“I don’t know, man,” Scott says, looking in wonder from the phone to Stiles, “I guess he got lucky? Allison says he got it in a private clinic or something. He went into surgery this morning.”

“That’s… wow, that’s great,” Stiles nods, relief for Allison flooding over him.

“I mean, her granddad’s a pretty scary dude,” Scott says to Stiles, as he’s gratefully accepting his drink from the waitress and giving her a smiling nod, “We dropped by the hospital during a shift a couple of days ago, when it really wasn’t looking good. I wanted to wait in the hallway, but Allison insisted I come say hi.”

Then their food is being placed in front of them, and Stiles eagerly attacks some of his fries.

“And what? He wasn’t friendly?” Stiles urges him on, cheeks filled with fries.

“Nah, it’s not that…” Scott says, squirting some hot sauce on his burger, “I mean, he was half dead, but he still managed to give me a super creepy vibe.”

“Creepy as in… predator?” Stiles pulls a face, looking at Scott in horror.

“No, dude,” Scott says, shaking his head slightly amused, “Just… I don’t know. Maybe it was the half dead thing.” He lets out a laughing scoff. “I was glad to get out of there, to be honest.”

“How does a woman as amazing and friendly as Allison come from a creepy old dude?” Stiles jokes, dipping some fries in the ketchup and stuffing them in his mouth all at the same time.

“I don’t have a clue,” Scott says, munching away happily on his burger. They never did object to talking with their mouths full in each other’s presence. “Allison seemed a bit embarrassed about it though.”

“Aww, that sucks,” Stiles pouts, then licks some salt off his lips.

“Yeah,” Scott says, “I felt like she was kinda trying to justify him afterwards? Like saying he could be really sweet too. He got her a new MacBook last week, apparently.”

“Wow, I need a sugar daddy like that too,” Stiles winks at Scott.

“Now you’re just being gross,” Scott says, but he knows Stiles is only joking anyway.

“You love me, dude,” Stiles shrugs, attacking his burger with enthusiasm.

***

“Do you want a coffee?” Stiles asks Derek, who is hunched behind his desk, doing the paperwork on a little brat they found with a couple of baggies of marijuana on him.

“Yeah, thanks,” Derek says, looking up at Stiles gratefully.

Stiles nods and heads for the coffee maker on the second floor. They have a machine on their floor, but Stiles knows Derek prefers a cup from a fresh pot, so he doesn’t mind the extra effort. And a good cup of coffee might help them get through this night shift better.

When he gets back with the coffee - grabbing an empty evidence bag on the way - Cora and Isaac are standing around Derek’s desk.

“Hey, did you hear?” Derek asks Stiles immediately.

“What?” Stiles asks, handing Derek his hot cup of coffee, fingers brushing against Derek’s slightly as they make the transfer.

“Charred body at the preserve,” Cora answers instead, “Pretty nasty.”

“Whoa,” Stiles says, putting his own cup down absentmindedly on the desk.

“And hey, where’s our coffee? Or does my brother get special treatment?” Cora winks at him, and Stiles hopes he’s not blushing too hard.

“Coffee maker’s on the second floor, it’s all yours,” Stiles says instead, hoping a little smugness will hide his flush.

“I’ll grab something from the machine,” Isaac sighs when Cora gives him a look, and Stiles can’t help but notice Derek’s grin.

“At least Stilinski knows how to spoil his partner!” Cora yells after him, but it comes out all amicable.

“I have a feeling Hales are very high maintenance,” Stiles jokes, sharing a look with Derek, who just smiles up at him.

“She gives us a bad name,” Derek says, and he fucking _winks_ at Stiles, and it’s a good thing Stiles’ butt is already resting against the side of Derek’s desk, or he would’ve lost his footing completely.

“Derek is one of those pained souls who thinks he doesn’t _deserve_ to be coddled,” Cora says, all but rolling her eyes as she leans on Derek’s shoulder.

“Cora…” Derek whines, and the embarrassed look on his face betrays the fact that there might be a bit of truth behind Cora’s joke.

But before Stiles can even say anything, Erica and Boyd arrive, both carrying a stack of evidence bags.

“This is gonna be a fun one,” Erica says, her face saying the exact opposite of her words.

“Nothing yet?” Isaac asks as he comes back, handing Cora her cup.

“Body dump,” Boyd says, shaking his head, “Victim charred almost to the bone. No ID, no witnesses.”

“The lab is going over the scene with a fine toothcomb,” Erica fills in, “And hopefully an autopsy will tell us a bit more.”

“Or at the very least get us a name,” Boyd sighs.

“Damn…” Stiles sighs. “I mean, this is _Beacon Hills_.”

“No murders at Westville PD?” Derek smirks, poking his fist against Stiles’ side where he’s leaning against the desk.

“Not so much, no,” Stiles grimaces, his gaze lingering on Derek maybe a second too long.

“Well, looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Derek says, tilting his head at Cora.

“I feel like I’m going to regret having made Detective real soon,” Isaac sighs.

“That’s the spirit,” Cora laughs, punching Isaac playfully in the shoulder.

“Heads up, Chief alert,” Stiles mutters, smiling, as he sees his father arrive and approach them, even though he feels kind of sorry for him having been called in in the middle of the night for this. After all, he’s already worked during the day.

“Evening everyone,” John says, with slightly tired eyes.

“Chief,” they all nod, greeting him.

“Bet you didn’t think you’d be back here so soon, huh?” Stiles gives him a wry smile.

“Never become Chief, son,” John says with a tiny smile, putting his hand on the crook between Stiles’ shoulders and neck, and Stiles guesses it’s a testament to how tired he really is that he called him ‘son’ in front of everyone.

“Alright then,” John says, turning towards the Detectives, “Why don’t we go into your office and you can fill me in on what we know?”

“Sure thing, Chief,” Erica says, picking up her evidence bags and leading the way. “We’ll even get you a coffee.”

“Bless you,” Stiles can hear his father say as he disappears into the Detective’s offices.

He kind of hates the fact that his dad had to make it back here after already working an entire day, even though he knows that that is part of the job. But John isn’t too young anymore either, and he already has high blood pressure, and Stiles really doesn’t want him to wear himself out. He’s pretty much the only family Stiles has got left.

“He’ll be fine, you know,” Derek says, as if he can read Stiles’ mind - and really? Should Stiles even be surprised anymore?

“You don’t know what I was thinking,” Stiles huffs, just because he can be stubborn if he wants to.

“Sure,” Derek says, with a snort, leaning back into his chair.

“Alright then,” Stiles challenges, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He thinks he likes pushing Derek like this. “Tell me what is on my mind tonight then.”  

“You’re worrying about the Chief not getting enough sleep,” Derek starts, reading Stiles like he’s an open book. “And getting too much stress from cases like this, probably. From having too much responsibility. You’re constantly worried about how it affects his health. Am I getting close?”

Stiles just huffs, narrowing his eyes at Derek. Derek, in response, laughs, and slaps him on the thigh.

“He’ll be fine, Stiles,” Derek says, reassuringly. “Your dad loves what he does. I think it’d be worse for him if he couldn’t do this anymore.”

“He’s got high blood pressure,” Stiles says, and it comes out dangerously close to a whine.

“And he takes care of himself, and even if he didn’t, I’m sure you’d make him. So what are you going to do? Send him home?” Derek asks.

“Hah,” Stiles lets out a laugh, “Oh, I bet you’d love to see me try. No, Stilinskis aren’t good at taking orders.”

“Then the both of you made the worst career choice ever,” Derek jokes, his smile reaching his eyes in a way that lights up his entire face.

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles huffs, good-natured.

“Is that an order, Officer?” Derek smirks at him, and Stiles just feels like his chest is going to explode. He goes from flirty and completely enamoured by Derek, to annoyed and teased in the blink of an eye.

His face closes off as he turn it away from Derek, muttering, “Don’t do that.”

Derek’s face falls instantly, and he asks, “What?”

“ _That!_ ” Stiles snaps, gesturing towards Derek, waving his arms in front of him. “That flirting thing…”

“Stiles, I wasn’t - ” Derek starts, staring up confused at him.

It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s being completely unreasonable, and he pushes himself away from the desk as he starts muttering an apology.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Stiles shakes his head, walking a fast pace towards the bathrooms.

He can hear Derek call out after him, but he just needs a second to himself. Suddenly being around Derek is suffocating him, his own desires and feelings making it impossible to act normal around Derek.

The bathroom is empty, luckily, and Stiles hovers over the sink, splashing water over his face. He feels like an idiot. What is Derek even supposed to think about him now? He’s yanking a few paper towels out of the dispenser and rubbing them over his wet face as the door opens with a soft creak, and Stiles doesn’t even have to look up to know that it’s Derek.

“Clearly what’s on your mind tonight is also a lot of worrying about… us? I guess?” Derek says, softly, hesitantly.

He’s holding the evidence bag in his hand - the one Stiles picked up earlier, only now it’s filled with the baggies of marijuana - and Stiles can’t help but snort nervously when his eyes land on it.

“Couldn’t leave them on my desk unsupervised,” Derek shrugs, following Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles nods, somewhat absentmindedly. He takes a deep breath as he pulls himself together, and says as casually as he can, “I’ll just go and do the paperwork for the confiscation and then you can finish up the report…”

He reaches for the evidence bag, but Derek puts it on the side of the sink, stopping Stiles.

“Stiles, can we please talk about this first?” Derek asks, desperately seeking out Stiles’ eyes.

“I’m sorry, I was out of line,” Stiles rushes out, his head ducked, “I don’t know why, I just - I needed a moment. I’m sorry, I - ”

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek breathes out, “Don’t. I - ”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers once more, this time for his outburst of words, for everything, for…

“Don’t be,” Derek says, ducking his head to try and catch Stiles’ gaze, and Stiles finally caves, daring to look at Derek.

“I never meant to…” Derek says, shaking his head, and his hand has found its way to Stiles’ upper arm now, the touch almost burning. “I probably went about this all wrong. I don’t mean to play this game with you, but I have a feeling that’s how you feel anyway?”

“I feel stupid, is how I feel,” Stiles sighs, because he really does, making such a big deal out of the fact that Derek doesn’t want to start anything up with him.

“Because of me?” Derek asks, the guilt audible in his voice.

“Because I’m an idiot that went and fell for you and now I can’t even act normal around you anymore,” Stiles says, cursing himself, “Jesus Christ, this is so not what you signed up for. I mean, you didn’t even want to be partnered with me, and now…”

“Hey,” Derek says, his second hand coming up to Stiles’ other arm now, squeezing tightly, “I thought we’d established that that was long behind us. We work fucking great together now. And, and - ”

Derek swallows, his eyelids flittering nervously like he’s trying to make up his mind. The words seem to get stuck in his throat. And then, suddenly, his face changes into determination, his eyes so fixed on Stiles that Stiles feels almost naked under the stare.

“And if you’re an idiot then I’m an idiot because I went and fell for you too,” Derek says, almost biting out the words.

His jaw is clenched as his gaze is still focused on Stiles. Stiles’ heart is beating a million miles an hour in his chest, the warmth and pressure of Derek’s hands on his arms suddenly the only thing he can focus on.

“Then why can’t we…?” Stiles manages to get out, whispering, and then Derek’s lips are on his, softer and more hesitant than he’d ever have imagined.

The kiss is chaste, maybe because Derek hasn’t forgotten where they are? Maybe because he really isn’t sure this is what they should be doing? Or maybe because this is the way Derek kisses, tentative and gentle? Either way, Stiles wouldn’t trade it for the world. His hands have somehow gotten a firm grip on Derek’s shirt, his head buzzing with bliss as he revels in the feeling of Derek’s lips moving tenderly against his. It’s almost as if Stiles is afraid to move, to spook him off. So he simply tightens his grip on Derek’s shirt and gingerly nips at Derek’s bottom lip, basking in the touch.

**Art by GirlEverAfter**

 

It’s over pretty quickly, but Derek doesn’t pull back hurriedly, instead he seems to linger, taking in the last tingling connection of their lips as he inches back slowly, eyes still closed.

“Wow…” Stiles whispers, because he simply can’t help himself, and then Derek finally opens his eyes again and finds his immediately, and Stiles can see a smile reflected there, vivid in the indescribable colors of his eyes.

Then his face crinkles up in a smile as he ducks his head, his hands still firmly on Stiles’ upper arms, now stroking gently up and down.

“I’m an idiot,” Derek smiles, and Stiles would maybe get nervous if it wasn’t for the fact that Derek doesn’t _sound_ like he’s sorry about the kiss.

“I thought we established that we both were…” Stiles grins, flattening his palms on Derek’s chest, his fingers resting over Derek’s badge.

“What if someone had walked in?” Derek asks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he catches Stiles’ gaze.

“Like my dad?” Stiles asks, then ducks his head as he starts laughing, “Oh my God.”

“Okay, okay,” Derek says, his hands sliding down Stiles’ arms before taking a step back, putting some distance between them. “We need to get back to work now.” He waves his hand around noncommittally. “Murder and all.”

Stiles nods, his tongue darting out to chase the taste of Derek on his lips.

“And we’re gonna be professional and shit,” Derek says with a heavy sigh, as he turns towards the door.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, shifting on his feet a bit.

“Yeah,” Derek says, nodding as he looks back at Stiles. “And when we’re off the clock, maybe we can…?”

“Yeah,” Stiles rushes out, not even waiting for Derek to finish his sentence. Pretty much anything that leads to them kissing, or even talking about their feelings towards each other is a big yes for Stiles.

“Yeah,” Derek nods, the side of his mouth curling up. Then he opens the door, ready to get back to work.

“Derek!” Stiles says, grabbing the evidence bag full of drugs from the edge of the sink, holding it up.

“Fuck,” Derek sighs, shaking his head, as he takes the bag.

“Got your mind somewhere else?” Stiles asks, a shit-eating grin on his face, because he knows that _he_ is the source of distraction here.

“You’re not funny,” Derek says, deadpan, as he heads out to his desk.

But he’s smiling anyway.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The fist hits him square in the eye, and the woman starts screaming again, and before Stiles knows it, Derek and he are on top of the suspect, his own knee digging - probably painfully - into the suspect’s back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Warning: Short scene of the aftermath of domestic violence between original characters.
> 
> \- [Tumblr post with graphic](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/94543656176/sterek-police-au-487-chapter-7)

The fist hits him square in the eye, and the woman starts screaming again, and before Stiles knows it, Derek and he are on top of the suspect, his own knee digging - probably painfully - into the suspect’s back. The woman starts crying hysterically again, and Stiles is still blinking, squinting at the dull pain in his face as Derek snaps on the handcuffs and starts reading him his rights. The string of profanities and death threats that come out of the guy’s mouth are nothing new, and once Stiles sees that Derek has him handled, he gets up with an “oompf”, pressing his fingertips gently under his eye, where the punch landed.

Derek is pulling the guy up, roughly - Stiles can’t say he has any regrets - and turns towards Stiles, asking, “You okay?”

Stiles nods. He knows he’ll probably have a bruise in the morning, maybe earlier, but at least it’s nothing worse. When he looks at the woman, the perp’s wife, he knows this wasn’t the first punch that was landed today. He really really hates domestic violence.

It’s then that he hears Dispatch calling in his ear - it’s Greenberg today - asking for an update.

“Dispatch for 111,” Stiles calls out through his microphone, taking a few steps away from Derek and the suspect, but still keeping them in his line of sight. “Arrived at the scene to find Mister hitting Missus. Suspect resisted arrest but the situation is under control now.”

“Roger, 111,” Greenberg calls back, “Do you need assistance or an ambulance at the scene?”

“We could use an ambulance to transfer the victim to the hospital, she’s in shock, and maybe a car to - ” Stiles replies, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see the suspect start to struggle again, trying to get away from Derek’s grip.

He lets go of the microphone, rushes over to his partner, ignoring calls of Dispatch in his ear. His hands are a little busy trying to prevent this guy from kicking and hitting and struggling against them.

“Son of a…” Derek hisses, gripping his arm around the suspect’s cuffed ones, the other on his neck, and together they guide him to the floor - again.

“I’ll get the two of you!” the man yells, spit flying on the floor, “I’ll get you! Don’t think I’ll forget your faces!”

“That’s great, Sir,” Stiles says, putting his knee in the suspect’s neck to make sure he doesn’t get up, “We’ll be sure to add those threats to the assault of your wife _and_ a police officer. You’re only making it easier for us.”

Derek is hunched over on the other side of the suspect, facing Stiles, his hands a firm grip on the handcuffs, his one knee resting on the small of his back, to immobilize him. When Stiles looks up, Derek’s face is right there, his gaze fixed on Stiles’ face.

“You okay?” Derek mouths carefully.

Stiles nods again, giving him a small smile. “You?” he mouths back.

Derek gives him a reassuring nod, and then Stiles realizes that Dispatch is still yelling in his ear. There’s Kira calling over the radio that they’re not far anymore, they’re coming in assistance, and the sirens are audible behind her. It’s Derek that finally frees one hand and answers back, “Sorry Dispatch, suspect wanted to throw a few more punches. Assistance is welcome but tell them not to get themselves killed hurrying over here. Situation under control for now.”

“Roger, 111, situation under control for now,” Dispatch answers, “Two teams are heading your way.”

“112 pulling up in the street as we speak,” Kira’s voice rings through the radio again, and it doesn’t take long for her and Jackson to barge in.

“Whoa, Stilinski, nice shiner,” Jackson calls out, but he gets down right next to them, making sure the suspect has nowhere to go.

Kira takes a look at them, then guides the wife into another room, gently, and Stiles is grateful for that. Then Scott and Allison arrive at the scene as well, Scott going into the kitchen to help out Kira with the victim after assuring himself everyone’s alright.

“You boys always get into fights when I’m not around,” Allison says, hands on her sides as she looks down at the scene.

“Maybe that’s why I’m stuck with the black eye,” Stiles says, smiling up at her, then flinching because the grimace makes his eye hurt.

“Must be,” Allison says, grinning, and then she helps them get the suspect up again.

Kira and Jackson accompany the victim and the ambulance to the hospital, while Allison and Scott help Derek and Stiles transfer the suspect to the station, to avoid all risks.

It’s when Stiles finally finds some time to check out his eye in the bathroom, that Derek sneaks in behind him.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Stiles jokes, but his heartbeat speeds up a bit anyway because despite their intentions, they haven’t really talked much since their shared kiss in the bathroom a couple of days ago. There is always something getting in the way - work, other commitments - and Stiles really doesn’t want to push either, scared that it’ll push Derek away.

Derek smiles softly at Stiles’ joke, his hand coming up to cup Stiles’ cheek, thumb resting underneath the bruise.

“Lemme see this…” he whispers, turning Stiles a bit so the light falls right on him.

“It’s a black eye,” Stiles shrugs slightly, not wanting to shake off Derek’s touch, “I’ll live.”

“Does it hurt a lot?” Derek asks, his eyes fixed on the bruise.

It pinches, his face feeling a bit weird when he grimaces, but Stiles knows that in the grand scheme of things, a little black eye is nothing.

“Nah, ‘s okay,” Stiles says, reassuringly.

“Liar,” Derek says, smiling, but before Stiles can answer, Derek is leaning in, gently pressing his lips against the skin at the top of Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles’ eyelashes flutter against Derek’s lips as he closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“Did you really just kiss it better?” Stiles mutters, content but amused, his fingers finding Derek’s sides and caressing softly over them.

“Didn’t think you’d complain?” Derek says, but he’s not pulling away, and when Stiles tilts his head to catch those lips in a kiss, Derek follows pliantly.

Until the door opens with a swing, and Cora gasps out a loud, “I knew it!”

Stiles and Derek break apart, Stiles slapping his hand over his mouth as Derek groans at the sight of his sister.

“For fuck’s sake, Cora!” Derek hisses, pulling her inside the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her.

“I knew it!” she repeats, pointing at Derek with a sly smile on her face.

“This is the _men_ ’s bathroom,” Derek says through clenched teeth.

“We’re out of toilet paper at the ladies!” Cora explains.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Derek asks, scowling at her.

“Oh please, at least I didn’t walk in on you jerking off again!” Cora can barely contain her laugh.

“Oh my God!” Stiles calls out.

“I was a teenager!” Derek says, mortified, his cheeks flushing bright red. “And she just barged into my room!”

“Who doesn’t lock the door when they’re buffing their banana?” Cora counters.

“People that expect other people to _knock_ , Cora!” Derek snaps back, and Stiles doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh at this beautiful display of sibling quarrel.

“Oh please, it’s not like I barged into an occupied stall or anything,” Cora rolls her eyes.

“I wouldn’t put it past you…” Derek mutters, huffing as he crosses his arms in front of him.

“So, Stiles…” Cora says, smiling sweetly as she turns towards him, “Nice eye.”

“Yeah, uh…” Stiles says, reaching instinctively for the bruise on his face. “Derek was just…” He trails off.

“Kissing it better?” Cora asks cheekily.

“Oh my God, that’s what I said!” Stiles calls out, a bubble of laughter rising up.

“You two are the worst…” Derek groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh, come on,” Cora says, “I’m happy for the two of you.”

The wink she gives Stiles makes him grin.

“Cora, can you please not…?” Derek starts, then sighs.

“Don’t worry about it, big bro,” Cora says, slapping him on the arm, “Your secret is safe with me.”

She reaches into one of the stalls and snatches up a roll of toilet paper.

“In the meantime, I still have to pee,” she announces like it’s the most normal thing in the world, “Before Isaac leaves without me to go pick up the autopsy results of our crispy nugget.”

“Any news on that?” Stiles asks.

“Coroner told us over the phone that the guy’s heart was missing, can you believe that?” Cora says cheerily before waving goodbye and slamming the bathroom door shut behind her.

There’s a beat of silence that falls over them.

“So…” Stiles says tentatively, because Derek is clearly feeling a bit uncomfortable about what just happened. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t,” Derek shakes his head, giving Stiles a smile, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, I just…” Stiles shrugs, “We haven’t really figured this out yet, and now Cora knows and… I feel like we don’t even know? If that makes sense?” He cringes at his own words.

“How about dinner when we’re done here?” Derek asks, “So we can… figure it out?”

“Sounds good,” Stiles says, nodding. He’s licking his lips before he knows it, chasing the taste of Derek. He only notices when he sees Derek’s eyes drop to it, and then Derek is leaning forward in a flash and pressing a firm kiss on his lips, pulling back before Stiles can even make a move.

“Tonight,” Derek says, taking a deep breath before swinging the bathroom door open again and stepping into the hallway.

Stiles can’t help but smile, but damn, the rest of this shift is going to seem eternal.

He bumps into his father on his way back to his desk, and by the looks of it, he’s there for Stiles.

“Stiles!” John says, his eyes immediately drawn to Stiles’ bruise.

“Listening to the scanner in your office again, Chief?” Stiles says with a grin.

“A good boss knows what is going on with his men,” John answers, wisely, then drops his tone, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Stiles says, “Not the first time I’ve been punched, and it won’t be the last.”

John nods, somewhat reassured. “And the victim?”

“Kira and Jackson have taken her statement at the hospital,” Stiles says, “Doctor wrote her four days off from work. Derek made the calls. The sleezebag stays in custody for now.”

“ _Suspect_ ,” John says, but there’s no heat behind his words, “We tend to call them suspects.”

“Sorry,” Stiles mutters, only looking half embarrassed. He knows he would never treat a suspect unfairly, but every now and then a little bit of venting in a controlled environment isn’t unheard of.

“Well, you know what to do,” John says, and Stiles knows he means paperwork, “And if you need any adv…” he trails off, distracted by a ruckus near the entrance, where Finstock is manning the counter today. Through the glass of the reception desk, Stiles can spot Daehler… Jesus, that guy just doesn’t know when to stop.

“And you are not welcome here!” Finstock calls out, already huffing out of annoyance.

“You provide a public service! You are obligated to help me out,” Daehler says smugly.

“You have a restraining order that says you can’t come within 500 feet of Officer Argent, and yet you are showing up at her precinct,” Finstock bites back.

“But she’s not here now, is she?” Daehler counters, “And a pick-pocket got my driver’s license and I want to press charges.”

“How do you know if she’s here or not?” Derek’s voice suddenly booms through the room, and he’s beside Finstock in no time, his posture stiff.

“I meant here, behind the desk,” Daehler says, flailing his arms at the glass before him, “I do have eyes, you know?”

“Use them to find another police station,” Finstock snaps, and Derek is crossing his arms in front of his chest, scowling at Daehler.

“Oh, this isn’t good,” Stiles mutters, and he follows the Chief over to the reception desk.

“Mister Daehler, did you really think coming to this precinct was the best thing to do?” John asks, firmly but politely.

“I’m a citizen in need, Chief Stilinski,” Daehler says, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face.

“Oh, for fuck’s sa - ” Derek mutters, and Stiles can feel he’s almost vibrating out of his skin, so he pulls him back a bit by the arm.

“Stiles…” Derek whispers, never taking his eyes off Daehler.

“You look like you’re about to crash through the bulletproof glass and kick Daehler’s ass,” Stiles hushes back.

“You _know_ what he did to Parrish, to Allison,” Derek tells him, his voice hushed but there’s enough bite to it to make Stiles’ face fall.

“He took away Parrish as your partner,” Stiles says, and it’s not a question or an accusation, just a simple statement, but Stiles can’t help but feel his stomach twist.

“He took away Parrish’s patrol days,” Derek says, his eyes glancing over at Stiles before turning on Daehler again - who is now in discussion with the Chief while Finstock is typing away at his computer like the keyboard has personally offended him.

“I know…” Stiles says, and he can’t even begin to imagine what that would be like, because he knows Parrish wouldn’t have chosen Dispatch if he had had a chance of staying on the streets.

“And then that little piece of shit shows up here, to taunt us, like he didn’t destroy lives here…” Derek whispers through gritted teeth.

“I know,” Stiles says, pulling Derek away a little further, “I know, and I understand why you’re so upset. But don’t give him the satisfaction, Derek.”

Derek huffs, clenches his jaw but tries to relax his posture a bit, and Stiles doesn’t know whether he’s just humoring him or not. He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there and waits, until Finstock produces a paper from the printer, puts a stamp on it with just a little too much force, and all but shoves it in the tray to slide under the glass to Daehler’s side.

“Here’s your report,” Finstock says roughly, and Daehler smiles smugly as he picks it up, examines it a bit.

“I trust you will find your way out now, Mister Daehler,” John says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Of course, Chief,” Daehler says with a smile, and he _waves_ at them before casually marching towards the exit.

There’s a silence until Daehler is officially out the door, and then John turns around again with a deep breath and says, “Alright, everyone back to work.” before heading over towards the staircase, to his own office.

Derek stays agitated the rest of the shift. He doesn’t say much, just quietly finishes up the paperwork they have, staying a bit tense the entire time. At some point he excuses himself to go call Parrish, to fill him in on Daehler’s appearance at the precinct. Stiles tries not to be jealous, he knows he doesn’t really have a reason, but somehow he fails anyway.

Stiles is in the locker room, done changing into his civilian clothes, when Derek brings up his hand to Stiles’ cheek, thumb stroking gently over the tender skin.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks, and it feels like a peace offering somehow.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, closing his eyes for a second at the feeling of Derek’s touch. When he opens them again, he searches out Derek’s eyes. “Hey, if you wanna postpone tonight… I mean, if you don’t really feel like - ”

Derek’s lips press against his in the blink of an eye. His thumb rubs soft circles over Stiles’ cheek while he sucks Stiles’ bottom lip between his just a little bit.

“I don’t wanna postpone,” Derek says as he pulls back, “I wanna see you. I don’t want that jerk to ruin our plans, okay?”

“Me neither,” Stiles says, swallowing. He knows he probably shouldn’t say this, but it’s been churning in his stomach this entire time, and… “But I don’t know, if you’d rather hang out with Parrish or something…”

“Oh my God, Stiles,” Derek says, and he lets out a laugh as he turns away. “Why are you so hung up on Parrish?”

“I’m not,” Stiles says, but it sounds feeble even to his own ears.

“Yes, you are,” Derek says, but he’s smiling, oddly enough, “You’re jealous of him and I don’t even know why because I certainly never kissed him or felt for him what I feel for you!”

The words go straight to Stiles’ heart, and he can’t help but smile, “And yet you like that I’m jealous!”

“You’re such an idiot,” Derek shakes his head, grinning.

“It’s true, look at you!” Stiles says, grinning ear to ear now, “You’re all pleased and flushed that the thought of you and Parrish gets me all worried.”

“Because it’s a ridiculous thought!” Derek says, “He’s my friend. Arguably one of my best friends, and one of the few, to be honest. But that’s it. Now can we please get out of here so I can take you on a date?”

“Date?” Stiles says, his entire face beaming at the word.

“Yes, _date_ ,” Derek says, “With you. Not Parrish, not anyone else. Just you, okay?”

He raises his eyebrow at Stiles, as if waiting to see if Stiles is reassured now.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, the edge of his mouth tugging up, “That sounds pretty good.”

“Good,” Derek says, closing his locker with a clang, “Now how do you feel about Italian food?”

“Like I could inhale it like air,” Stiles says, grabbing his backpack and throwing it over his shoulder.

***

“And it’s like that every week, almost,” the guy - Halden - says. Stiles recognizes him, he owns a hardware store on Fifth. “I’ve been to talk to him, but he just slams the door in my face!”

Derek puts up a wry smile, his fork pushing around the last piece of cheesecake on his plate as he looks up at their unwanted guest standing next to the table. The third one already.

“Well, all I can tell you is to call Dispatch when the noise disturbance is going on, Sir,” Derek says, “They’ll send a team to assess, talk to your neighbor, write out a fine if needed…”

“Oh, it’s needed,” Halden goes on, “It’s a complete disregard of the people around him. I mean, who puts their music up that loud in the middle of the night?! There are people that have to work the next morning, you know?” He huffs, waving his hands in their directions. “I mean, of course you know, you’re hard-working people too!”

Derek nods, his lips pressed together in a fake smile.

“Though, not actually on the job right this second,” Stiles says, and he hopes his attempt at a jovial smile doesn’t come across too phoney.

“Right, right,” Halden says, and yet he makes no indication of leaving. Instead, he launches himself in a monologue about the parking space in front of his store, and Derek clears his throat slightly as he looks down at the remainder of his cheesecake. Stiles slides his foot over under the table to rub his ankle against Derek’s lower leg.

Stiles tries to suppress his smile, instead taking another spoon of his ice cream, and answering Halden without completely emptying his mouth, “We’ll make sure to let the traffic department know about that, Mister Halden. And you, be sure to call our Dispatch when that neighbor of yours gets loud again, alright?”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Halden says, and he looks like he finally caught a clue, shuffling on his feet a little bit. “Well, thank you very much.”

“Anytime, Sir,” Derek says, politely, nodding at him.

“Have a nice evening,” Halden finally says, and then he heads out of the restaurant.

“Oh my God,” Stiles chuckles, shaking his head, “How long has it been since the citizens of Beacon Hills have seen a cop around?”

“Apparently ages,” Derek says, finally sticking his fork in the last piece of cheesecake. “And that’s why every single one of them had to come bother us during our meal.”

“Clearly,” Stiles sighs, amused, and he scoops up another bite of ice cream, then holds out the spoon towards Derek. “Taste?”

“If you’re not scared of sharing a spoon with me?” Derek grins, then leans over a little bit to lick the ice cream off the spoon.

“I think I can handle your germs,” Stiles says, deliberately popping the spoon into his own mouth now, twisting it around in his mouth. He can tell it has the desired effect, Derek’s eyes drawn to his mouth, so he slides the spoon over his tongue slowly before dipping it back into his bowl.

“I can’t believe you just did that…” Derek whispers, a little bit flushed, a sneaky grin on his face.

“Don’t tell me I perturbed the imperturbable Officer Hale?” Stiles smirks, pressing his leg up against Derek’s under the table again.

“I am nothing of the sort,” Derek says, ducking his head to stare down at his empty dessert plate with a smile on his face.

“With all these interruptions and everything…” Stiles says, a little bit hesitantly, but he feels like he needs to get it out there anyway. “We haven’t really talked about… you know, us? I mean, I know you said you didn’t want to… I mean, because of us working together, but…”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Derek says, giving a tiny shrug, “It was stupid of me anyway. There… I… We were never going to _not_ … you know?”

“Do you still want to… _not_?” Stiles asks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“No,” Derek says without missing a beat. His face lights up with a smile again. “I’d like us to… be together. Date.”

“Good,” Stiles says, reaching his hand across the table, and Derek puts his in it instantly.

“I think we can just… take it easy? Not rush things?” Derek asks, squeezing his fingers around Stiles’ for a second.

“Yeah, definitely,” Stiles nods, because he’ll do whatever Derek feels comfortable with. “Just do what feels right.”

Derek nods, his fingers tightening around Stiles’ hand. “Lemme pay the bill and lets get out of here, okay? Because I think making out with you for a bit would definitely feel right.” He winks, and Stiles’ face breaks open in a smile.

Derek insists on paying the bill alone, placating Stiles by saying he can pay the next time they go out. They walk back to Derek’s place ‘cause it isn’t that far, and that’s where Stiles left his jeep. Derek’s hand in his feels right, feels safe, and yet a little bit thrilling.

Derek suggests making coffee when he closes the door behind them, and Stiles nods, saying, “In a minute” and he slides his hands around Derek’s middle, dropping his lips on top of Derek’s. They’re a bit cold from the chilly air outside, but they warm up quickly through the kiss, Derek sliding his tongue out, teasing at the seam of Stiles’ lips, gently pushing them apart. Stiles opens up against him eagerly, savoring the taste of Derek’s mouth.

Derek guides them towards the couch, with minimal loss of contact, and somehow Stiles ends up on Derek’s lap, straddling him. Derek’s hands are sliding up and down his thighs, never quite reaching the curve of his ass before he slides them back down. Stiles lets himself fall into Derek’s touch, lips nipping at Derek’s, his hands coming up to cup his jaw. The stubble rasps against his fingers, tingling, and Stiles breaks the kiss only to brush his lips over Derek’s jawline instead, until it sends shivers down his spine.

Stiles is getting hard at record speed, the way Derek’s mouth searches out his, the way he’s solid and warm underneath him, the way his hands roam higher and higher up on Stiles’ thighs, until his thumbs are almost in the crook of Stiles’ groin, and when Derek pushes his hips up, Stiles can feel he’s not the only one. Derek is hard as well, humming contently every time Stiles rocks his hips down.

“This…” Stiles gasps, open mouthed against Derek’s lips. “Is this rushing things?”

Derek responds with a searing kiss first, almost bruising against Stiles’ lips before he whispers, “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t…”

And then Derek’s hands round Stiles’ ass, pulling him closer into his lap, creating a beautiful friction that has Stiles almost coming right there and then.

“Fuck…” Stiles breathes out, into the kiss.

Derek makes this whimpering low sound in the back of his throat, and then he grunts and says, “Fuck, the things you do to me…” and for a second Stiles doesn’t know what is happening but then Derek’s arms are around him, and he’s flipping them, pushing Stiles down onto the couch and plastering himself over Stiles’ body in a second.

“Oh yeah…” Stiles sighs, satisfied, and he hooks his legs around Derek’s middle, until Derek is pushing down on him and Stiles is so hard in the confines of his pants that it’s almost painful. But it’s worth it, so worth it, with Derek’s firm body on top of him, Derek’s palms cupping around the curve of Stiles’ ass, and those lips… those lips that are trailing a path from Stiles’ neck, up to that sweet sensitive spot right under his ear, and then sealing themselves over Stiles’ mouth again. Stiles catches his tongue, moans into Derek’s mouth, and his entire body shivers at the way Derek is thrusting against him.

In the end, his orgasm manages to sneak up on him, a burst of pleasure flooding through him as Derek pushes down on him, his lips never leaving Stiles’ skin. Stiles is clutching his arms around Derek, holding him as close as he can, and it’s when Stiles is coming down from his high that he can feel Derek coming against him with a jerk. The noise that leaves his mouth is beautiful, and Stiles knows that he’ll want to recreate it over and over again, until he knows his brain couldn’t possibly forget what it sounds like.

Stiles melts into the couch, not quite ready to disentangle his arms and legs from around Derek, but Derek really doesn’t seem to mind, burying his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck, breathing in deeply.

“We definitely need to do that again,” Stiles finally breathes out, the smile never leaving his face.

“Definitely,” Derek mutters against Stiles’ neck, his stubble scratching deliciously against the skin.

“And like… work our way up to less clothes and stuff,” Stiles all but giggles, making a point by tightening his arms around Derek’s shoulders a bit more.

“And more touching of dicks too,” Derek says, and Stiles can feel the grin against his skin.

Stiles chuckles, twisting his head a bit to be able to drop a kiss on Derek’s head. “My kind of man,” he sighs happily, closing his eyes for a second.

Derek only hums in agreement.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [Amazing artwork by Littlecofiegirl](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/95549979006/littlecofiegirl-commission-for-finduilasclln)!

They’re heading out to the patrol car just when Cora and Isaac are stepping out of their own car, Isaac looking a bit subdued. Cora heads straight for Derek, skips hello’s entirely, and asks, “Do you have change for the machine?”

“Uhm…” Derek says, putting down his bag as he starts searching his pockets, “Not sure.”

“Dammit,” Cora mutters, her scowl rivalling that of her brother’s - the way Stiles used to know him anyway. “I only have big bills and that stupid machine always spits those out again. When are they gonna get that fixed anyway?”

“You okay?” Derek asks, his face softening at Cora’s outburst.

“I’m fine, I just want a soda,” Cora all but snaps, and seriously? Stiles does not understand what her problem is, but Derek isn’t telling her off, just regarding her carefully.

“We identified our murder victim,” Isaac says, by way of explanation, “And we just had to go announce it to his wife and his kids.”

“Oh damn,” Stiles sighs, suddenly understanding Cora’s foul mood a little bit better.

“Sorry, Cor,” Derek says, rubbing his hand over Cora’s shoulder for a second in support.

“I’m fine,” she says, somewhat defensive, but the way she’s looking up at Derek reveals a smidge of gratefulness.

Stiles fishes into his bag for his wallet, finding a few one dollar notes and holding them out for Cora.

“Here.”

Cora’s face softens a bit, ducking her head as she accepts the bills Stiles hands her.

“We all know it’s not easy,” Stiles says, shrugging.

“Poor guy was just in the hospital a few weeks ago,” Isaac says, shaking his head sadly, “He fell off his roof while doing repairs, could’ve broken his neck but walked away with simply a fractured wrist.”

“He escapes death only to be murdered afterwards,” Cora sighs. “I don’t even have to tell you the state his wife was in.”

“Yeah,” Derek mutters, then swings his arm around Cora’s shoulder and pulls her close to his chest, “But you guys are gonna find out who killed him and at least she’ll have closure on that.”

“Won’t do her any good,” Cora shrugs, but she leans into Derek’s touch anyway.

“You’d be surprised,” Derek says, and Cora lets go with a grateful nod.

“You heading out for the day?” Cora asks, changing the subject.

“Just a few hours,” Stiles says, as Derek picks up his bag again, “There’s that protest this afternoon, the Union one, and they’re anticipating a risk of riots, so…”

“Oh goodie,” Isaac says, “Sitting in a van waiting for something to happen all afternoon.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be finding murderers,” Stiles says, winking at Isaac.

“Bring a deck of cards!” Isaac says, patting Stiles on the shoulder before heading towards the garage exit.

Stiles laughs at him.

“Thanks,” Cora mutters, holding up the bills Stiles gave her, then shoots another grateful smile at Derek before following Isaac.

“Any time,” Stiles says, giving them a wave.

“Thanks,” Derek says as well, as he gets behind the wheel of the patrol car.

“Jesus, it was only like… three bucks,” Stiles rolls his eyes, buckling up his seat belt over his bulletproof vest.

When he looks over at Derek, he is greeted by a soft smile and a poignant look. “Thank you.”

Stiles can feel a ball of warmth rising in his chest under Derek’s gaze.

“You’re welcome,” he nods, returning the smile, and then Derek starts up the car and turns on the police radio.

“So…” Stiles says after a moment of silence, “You’re not unfamiliar to notifications like that then, huh?”

“Unfortunately not, no,” Derek says, his face grim, “I’d rather stand around a thousand decomposing corpses than have to tell one family member they lost their loved one, to be honest.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what my dad always said,” Stiles says.

“Your dad…” Derek starts, then hesitates, glancing over at Stiles real quickly, “You uh… You know about my family, right?”

Stiles nods. He knows. Derek never actually told him, but everyone in Beacon Hills knows about how almost the entire Hale family died in a house fire so many years ago. Stiles never pushed to get the story from Derek. It’s not his place to pry. He knows how it always feels like a punch to the gut whenever anyone brings up his own mother, so…

“Your dad was the one to notify me and Cora, actually,” Derek says.

“Oh,” Stiles says, “I… I didn’t remember that.”

“I’m sure you were too young,” Derek says, and the words twist a bit in Stiles’ stomach, because _Derek_ was too young too. Too young for something like that.

“Cora and me… we were at school. Your dad came to find us there, brought us to the precinct instead of taking us home,” Derek goes on, focusing on the road ahead of him. Stiles doesn’t tell him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to tell. He can feel that Derek wants to, in this moment. At his pace. And Stiles is grateful for that. “We started crying when he told us, and your dad, he - he had tears in his eyes.”

Stiles swallows, the thought of his father having to fight back tears when telling Derek and Cora - just teenagers at the time - that their family had died… Stiles knows that that kind of thing became a million times harder for his father after losing Stiles’ mother.

“I didn’t understand at the time,” Derek says, a sad huff of laughter passing his lips, “Why he would be affected by it.”

“Seeing people hurt like that…” Stiles whispers, and all he can see is his mother in his mind.

“I understood when I had to tell someone myself for the first time,” Derek says, nodding.

“I, uh… it scares me,” Stiles confesses, ducking his head slightly.

“You haven’t, yet?” Derek asks, and it’s not accusing or surprised, just the soft timbre of his voice that always manages to soothe Stiles somehow.

“No,” Stiles says, forcing a weak smile, “Not that many deaths in Westville, to be honest. And I don’t know, I guess I always managed to not get those assignments somehow.”

“That’s nothing to be sad about, I’d say,” Derek says, sneaking a glance at Stiles before turning his eyes back on the road.

“Won’t be able to hold that lucky streak forever though,” Stiles says, sagging a little deeper into his seat.

“You’ll be okay,” Derek says, reassuring, “Besides, you won’t be alone.”

Stiles looks over at Derek and is greeted with a warm smile.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, his fingers flexing on his leg, aching to reach out.

“And we can always try to lay one upon Jackson or something,” Derek winks at him, cutting the heavy mood a little bit.

Stiles lets out a laugh, leaning his head back against the headrest. Trust Derek to make everything a little bit lighter.

“So hey, you actually knew my father way before joining the force,” Stiles says. No wonder Derek looks up at him like that, they have a history together.

“Yeah,” Derek says, “I’m actually pretty sure he’s the reason both Cora and I joined.”

“No way,” Stiles says, lips parted in wonder.

“Well, Cora might’ve been stepping in my footsteps a little bit, I don’t know,” Derek says, a slight flush on his cheeks like he’s just a little bit embarrassed by it, “But your dad… he left an impression.”

“He has a way of doing that, doesn’t he?” Stiles says, pride rising up in his chest.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Derek says, almost muttering behind a soft smile.

“Oh pish, you didn’t even want to work with me at first,” Stiles jokes, because he knows that’s long behind them.

“I should’ve known better,” Derek smirks, turning the car down the street from where Stiles knows they have a drive through place with excellent coffee.

“Ooh, ooh,” Stiles says, flailing his arm out towards the drive through place.

Derek rolls his eyes but makes the turn anyway, regardless of the three car line in front of them.

“Go on,” Stiles presses when he notices Derek has fallen silent, and it elicits one of those smiles from Derek that Stiles has grown to love. He suspects Derek keeps this smile only for him, and Stiles can feel it down to his toes when it’s directed at him.

“Your dad talks about you like you hung the moon, Stiles, and you know it,” Derek says, acting as if it’s an imposition to admit, but he’s smiling anyway.

Stiles can feel the blush rise on his cheeks. All he ever wanted was to make his dad proud.

“Even back then,” Derek says, shaking his head nostalgically.

“Wait?” Stiles says, doing a double take as he stares at Derek. “Back then?”

The cars in front of them move slowly, and Derek puts up his finger in front of Stiles face as he places their order - he knows Stiles’ favorite coffee order by heart by now. The metallic-sounding voice thanks them for their order, and Derek drives up behind the car that’s in front of the window.

“We saw your dad a few times,” Derek says, softly, “There was a thing with social services, my uncle Peter having to come back to Beacon Hills to take care of us… Your dad checked up on us a couple of times. I think he probably did more than what was expected of him from the job, you know?”

“That does sound like him,” Stiles smiles, and then Derek drives up to the window and the young man on the other side looks a little uncomfortable at the sight of them. Stiles is getting used to that by now. Some people freeze up when they see an officer in uniform, no matter why they’re there.

“Here’s your order, Officers,” he says, his voice a little bit squeaky, as he sticks out the two to-go cups.

“Excuse me, do you have any croissants?” Stiles asks, half leaning over Derek so he can look the guy in the eye. “Sorry, forgot to put in the order.” He adds half-sheepish.

“Stiles, we’re going to get lunch later,” Derek mutters at him.

“Yeah, and then we’re stuck for the protest all afternoon,” Stiles says, “Trust me, you’ll thank me for this.”

Derek presses his lips together in a fine line for a second, then he turns towards the window and goes, “Two croissants and two Danishes, please.”

Stiles grins, leans back in his seat as Derek hands him his coffee cup, heat spreading over his palm as he wraps his fingers around the cup. They get a paper bag with the pastries a few moments later, and Derek includes a nice tip when he pays the - still uncomfortable looking - server. Stiles puts the bag by his feet, makes a mental note not to forget it - he himself hates it when other patrol teams leave a mess in the car so he sure as hell won’t contribute to that - then takes a grateful sip of his steaming hot coffee.

“Aaaaah,” Stiles lets out a content sound as Derek pulls back out onto the street, “Why does take away coffee always taste so much better than the one you make yourself?”

“It doesn’t,” Derek says, looking at him like he’s just made the worst cuisine faux-pas in his life, “It really really doesn’t. It just tastes more artificial.”

“What are you even talking about?” Stiles asks, “Artificial is good.”

“You’re a nightmare,” Derek says, oddly fond.

“Whatever,” Stiles says, holding up his nose over the lid of the cup and getting a good sniff of that heavenly aroma. “You were telling me a story, by the way.” Stiles reminds him.

“You make it sound like storytime,” Derek snorts, but he continues anyway, “It’s just… I remember those times your dad came to check on us. He uh… he talked about you.”

“He did?” Stiles grins, and he’s sure it’s more than the coffee warming up his chest right now.

“Yeah, about how he had a kid that was so bubbly and full of life,” Derek smiles, putting his cup in the holder in front of the console, probably to cool off a bit, “And he was just doing his best to keep up, you know?”

“That sure sounded like us,” Stiles says, biting his bottom lip to keep from grinning so much his face will split in two.

“And how…” Derek says, tilting his head in a compassionate way, “About how Cora and I should stick together, should make time for each other. Because he knew what that was like, you know? To be… To only have each other.”

Stiles nods, swallowing down the sudden emotions of hearing those words, realizing just how much he meant to his father.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, his thumb fiddling with the lid of his cup, “When my mom died…” He trails off, doesn’t know what to say exactly or how to say it.

“I know,” Derek says instead, and he reaches over Stiles’ side, taking his hand and carding his fingers through Stiles’.

The touch makes Stiles feel lighter in an instant, and they just sit like that for a while in silence, Derek driving the car through the streets, quietly holding Stiles’ hand.

***

“I’ll go see what the big brass have to say at the briefing,” Finstock says as he slips out of his seat in the front of the van, “You all don’t move a muscle, alright?”

“But what if we have to pee, Sergeant?” Scott says, joking.

“You hold it!” Finstock calls out before slamming the door shut.

“This promises to be a lovely afternoon,” Stiles half laughs, half sighs, as he puts his feet up on Scott’s lap, who is sitting opposite from him.

“Hey,” Scott mutters, pushing the feet off until they’re on the bench between him and Kira.

“Being paid to hang out and do nothing?” Allison snorts, “I’ve had worse jobs.”

“We’re not doing nothing,” Scott says, like the dutiful angel that he is, “We’re on stand-by, we’re securing people’s safety!”

“We’re here to pick up a few rioters, McCall,” Jackson rolls his eyes, “It’s not like we’re saving the world.”

“At least we’re not getting punched in the face,” Stiles says, his black eye finally fading, as he pets the helmet that’s sticking out of his bag.

“Nine times out of ten, we don’t even leave the van,” Derek says, closing his eyes as he slides down a bit in his seat, leaning his head against the tinted window.

The fact that in the process he scooted a bit closer to Stiles is no coincidence, Stiles thinks. Stiles pushes the back of his hand against Derek’s thigh in acknowledgment, and even though he doesn’t open his eyes, the tiny smirk tugging at Derek’s lips tells Stiles that he felt it.   

“So Allison…” Jackson says, the words drawled out. “Should we save a spot for cake tomorrow?”

“What?” Scott asks, a confused look on his face.

“Jackson…” Allison sighs, then says to the group, “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh!” Scott says, eyes wide and kind of confounded, like he’s judging himself for not knowing his new partner’s birthday yet.

“And yes, there will be cake,” Allison stresses.

“Whoop!” Stiles calls out, arms in the air, jostling Derek - who is still pretty much leaning against him - slightly in the process.

Then the door of the van flies open, and Finstock sticks his head in. He’s looking around with a quizzical look on his face, like he’s actually counting if they’re all still there.

“Good,” he mutters when he’s taken them all in, then says, “We’re on standby.”

A groan fills the van, Jackson now putting his feet up as well, and Derek is listening with his eyes closed, the perfect picture of disinterest.

“Hey, hey,” Finstock mumbles, “D’you think I like being here? Jackson! Get behind the wheel again!”

Jackson groans some more, and slips back into the driver’s seat as Finstock joins him by his side.

“We have to go to this spot,” Finstock is showing Jackson something on his map that Stiles can’t quite see. “It’s right by the demonstration route, but out of sight. We have to wait there until we’re called on, got it?”

Jackson nods, puts the van in gear as he drives off.

“Right…” Kira says as she fishes something out of her bag and holds up a deck of Uno cards. “Who’s in?”

Even Derek peeks through one half-closed eyelid and straightens up. Scott grabs one of the shields and places it on their knees, so they have a make-shift table to play on. Jackson parks the car not long after, climbing in the back again to join them, and Kira starts distributing the cards.

“Watch out for Derek,” Allison mutters, one eye and a smirk on Derek. “He cheats.”

Jackson just points at him, as his way of agreeing, and Derek doesn’t even argue, just gives Allison a grumpy stare.

“For real?” Stiles asks, shocked, grabbing the cards Kira’s handing him.

“Only when I get bored with the game,” Derek shrugs, sorting his own cards.

“He gets bored after five minutes,” Allison says, giving him a completely unimpressed look.

“I never would’ve pegged you for a cheater,” Stiles says, making a tssk-ing sound with his tongue as he shakes his head at Derek.

“Only in meaningless card games,” Derek says, smoothly, brushing his arm up against Stiles’.

“Yeah, so don’t worry, Stilinski,” Jackson says, “I’ve never even known him to date before, so he’s not likely to fuck around on you.”

“Wha - ?” Stiles sputters out, as Derek straightens himself. “How do you - ?”

“Shut up, Jackson,” Derek grumbles, shaking his head.

“Oh please, with the way you two are looking at each other?” Jackson rolls his eyes, and Allison and Kira start chuckling and whispering things between the two of them.

“No, no!” Stiles says, and he kind of feels horrible because he remembers how Derek didn’t want people to think he just slept around the force. So he never said anything - except to Scott, but that doesn’t count - and now Jackson is spilling the beans and oh God. He doesn’t want Derek to get angry, or think that Stiles just went around and blabbed about them. This is all still so new, and he doesn’t want to fuck it up. He really doesn’t want to. He looks at Derek, the panic probably visible on his face. “I never - ”

“I know,” Derek says, giving him a reassuring smile, “It’s okay.”

“But, I - ” Stiles says, his mouth falling open.

“Jesus, Stilinski, don’t have a panic attack!” Jackson snorts, and promptly gets cuffed on the head for it by Kira.

“Shut the hell up, Whittemore,” Finstock yells from where he’s sitting in the front of the van, reading through some papers.

“I didn’t tell,” Stiles mouths at Derek, feeling his heart rate slow down again now that Derek has put a comforting hand on his forearm.

“I know,” Derek whispers, throwing a smile at Stiles.

“Jesus, I was just guessing,” Jackson mutters, burying his gaze in his Uno cards, “You were either there already, or it was bound to happen anyway.”

“ _Privacy_ , Jackson,” Allison sneers at him, “It’s a thing. Look it up.”

And Stiles can’t help but think that Allison must know all about having her privacy invaded, really.

“Oh, what happened to us being one big family?” Jackson quirks an eyebrow.

“Every family has an idiot,” Derek mutters, but he’s smirking anyway, and then he’s slamming his hand down on the makeshift shield table. “Are we gonna play or what?”  

Kira turns around the first card, and Allison makes the first move, and the game is off. Stiles keeps sneaking glances at Derek, but Derek is simply playing the game, doesn’t seem annoyed or upset about Jackson spilling their secret, and returns his smiles every so often.

Apparently the boredom kicks in after a while though, because cards start disappearing, and every now and then Derek puts down a wrong card “by mistake”.

“Oh my God, you’re the worst,” Stiles laughs, when Derek tries to switch one of his cards with Stiles’.

“Hale!” Kira calls out, taking some cards from the stack and throwing them at Derek.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Derek exclaims, shoving them back under the pile.

“You are the worst loser ever,” Scott laughs, putting one of his own cards down.

“What are you even talking about?” Derek scoffs, as he holds up his cards to show how few there are, “I’m winning!”

There’s a phone going off in one of the bags, and Derek gets up and leans over the bench slightly to reach it, and Stiles can’t help but let out a loud giggle at the sight of one of the cards sticking to Derek’s butt.

“Oh my God!” Stiles shrieks as more cards fall to the floor, “You cheater!”

“Told you,” Allison says, shaking her head in amusement.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thank you so Space for the beta. 
> 
> \- I also have to thank Nashi for brainstorming with me and for giving me some ideas that have made it into the fic! Thanks, bb!

Of course Stiles has to bump into his father in the hallway, when he’s holding Derek’s freshly laundered pants in his hands. They’re the pair Stiles borrowed when he ended up jizzing his own after their date at the restaurant. Stiles wore them to get home and wanted to give them back to Derek all clean and fresh.

“Stiles,” John greets him with a gentle smile, then looks down at the pants, and before Stiles knows it he’s blurting out, “They’re Derek’s.” He really could just kick himself.

“O-kay…” John frowns, then the edge of his mouth curls up a tiny bit as he asks, “You doing your colleagues’ laundry now, Officer Stilinski?”

“Well, I uh…” Stiles stammers, surely going completely red in the face, “See, the thing is…”

“Is that it is surely none of my business, right?” John says, and God bless him, really.

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles sighs out in relief, and then Derek is walking up to them and Stiles just shoves the pants against his chest.

“Your pants,” Stiles mumbles, but Derek is holding back a grin as he accepts them, and Stiles can only imagine how he’s thinking back to how it came to be that Stiles had to borrow a pair of his pants anyway.

“Thanks,” Derek smirks, then nods politely at the Chief. “Allison’s bringing in birthday cake, Sir. Will you please join us?”

“He’s not allowed cake!” Stiles calls out, gasping.

“Excuse me?” John arches his eyebrow as he crosses his arms in front of him.

“Too much sugar, way too risky for the cholesterol!” Stiles explains, looking over at Derek as if he’s just offered a hand-grenade to his father.

Derek just offers Stiles a sheepish shrug.

“I think you seem to forget who’s in charge here, Stiles,” John says, a half smile on his face.

Stiles shakes his head, “I am trying to keep you alive here.”

“You just try to keep yourself and Officer Hale alive,” John smiles, heading out to the bullpen where Allison is setting up a few cakes, “I’ll take care of myself.”

“But - pfffsh!” Stiles mumbles incoherently, because he’s never heard such nonsense in his entire life. He stares at his father, who is now giving Allison a birthday hug, and then back at Derek. “You were no help at all.”

“Yeah, I’m not getting in the middle of that,” Derek says, and he doesn’t look quite as apologetic as Stiles would have liked him to be.

“But you’re my - !” Stiles blurts out, before he catches himself and feels his face heat up. He was going to say ‘boyfriend’, but is he? They’re dating, and Derek said he wanted them to be together, so does that mean…?

“I am,” Derek says, blinking his eyes maybe a little too rapidly as he looks almost… shy. “But that man is not only my Chief, he’s also your father, so I’ve got double reason not to get on his bad side.”

“Psssh,” Stiles scoffs, “As if my dad would ever not idolize you!” And there’s that blush on Derek’s face again. “Besides,” Stiles adds, “What if you get on _my_ bad side?”

A sly grin appears on Derek’s face, and he leans into Stiles a little bit as he says with a low whisper, “I have different ways of making things up to you.”

“Hmmm,” Stiles beams, feeling a jolt of excitement run through him at Derek’s words. “Maybe we should get in an argument then?”

Derek bites his lip, like he’s considering it, like he’ll grab Stiles by the collar any second now, and find them some secluded space. But then there are cheers as Allison starts to cut the cake, and Derek visually composes himself, tapping Stiles lightly on the arm as he says, “Come on. There’s a birthday girl waiting.”

Stiles nods and sneaks ahead of Derek, running up to Allison and throws his arms around her.

“Happy birthday, Ally!” Stiles calls out, Allison squeezing him back as she thanks him.

“Thank _you_ for taking such good care of my bro,” Stiles says, smiling from her to Scott, who is all but drooling over the cakes.

“Best wishes,” Derek smiles, kissing Allison on the cheek, only to be engulfed by her arms, hugging him tight.

She’s mumbling something in his neck that Stiles can’t quite catch, but Derek tightens his arms around her and nods.

“Where’s that birthday girl?!” Parrish calls out as he walks in, holding up a neatly wrapped present.

“You got her a separate gift?” Scott calls out, finally looking up from the cakes, confused. They all pitched in for a big gift together, even Parrish, so Stiles is a bit confused as well.

“Show-off,” Derek snorts, with no heat behind it.

“Its not from me!” Parrish says, handing Allison the present, “It was left at the front desk for you.”

“The front desk?” Allison frowns, taking the box and inspecting it.

“Yeah, it just says your name on it,” Parrish says, pointing to the small card attached with the string of the red bow. “Nothing else.”

Allison eyes the box somewhat suspiciously, then carefully peels off the Scotch tape, opening the present.

“ _Oooooh_ ,” Kira says as Allison lifts the lid of the box - the wrapping paper falling to the floor - and reveals some nice looking lingerie.

Jackson whistles in his fingers, until he sees Allison’s face contorted in a deep frown, her fingers carefully brushing against the material of the dark grey silky bra.

“What is it?” Parrish asks, his voice losing all the joy and enthusiasm he had a minute ago.

“This is…” Allison says, putting the box down on the desk, next to the cakes, like she doesn’t want to touch it anymore. “Who gave this to me?”

“I don’t know,” Parrish says apologetic, “It was left at the front desk, Greenberg gave it to me and - ” Parrish turns towards the front desk, yelling out, “Greenberg!”

Greenberg appears two seconds later, sticking his head in the door of the offices. “Yeah?”

“Who gave you that present for Allison?” Parrish asks.

“Some courier guy,” Greenberg shrugs, “Said it didn’t need to be signed for.”

“What did he look like?” Allison asks, her voice sharp.

“Blond, goatee, I - I don’t know…” Greenberg stammers, probably feeling a bit scrutinized.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks Allison, as Greenberg slips back out to man the front desk.

“This is…” she says, wrapping her arms around her chest as if she’s hugging herself, and it fills Stiles with a sense of dread. “Two - three days ago… I was checking the Victoria Secret website. I put this exact set in my shopping cart, size, color, everything. I ended up not buying it, but…”

“That’s creepy,” Stiles whispers.

“How did anyone know what I was looking at…?” Allison asks, sighing shakily.

“Did you mention it to anyone? Send anyone a link maybe?” John asks.

“No,” Allison all but snorts, “I mean, it’s lingerie. Its not exactly prime conversation material.”

Jackson opens his mouth, but Derek cuts him off before he can even utter a word. “Don’t even!”

Jackson huffs, scowling at Derek but doesn’t attempt to make any more jokes.

“Daehler,” Parrish bites out.

“We don’t know that,” John tries to reason.

“How?” Kira asks, dumbfounded, “How does he even know what Allison is doing?”

“This is so creepy,” Stiles whispers, a dreary look at Allison, who is looking completely shaken.

“We need to go pick him up,” Derek says, his jaw clenched.

“On what grounds?” Stiles challenges, sadly.

“You _know_ he’s behind this,” Derek says through gritted teeth.

“I know!” Stiles calls out, “But your gut feeling, or _mine_ , won’t stand up against a judge!”

“Stiles is right,” John says, sighing. “We all know it, but we don’t actually have anything besides Allison getting a present on her birthday.”

“Maybe…” Allison says, timidly, shrugging, “Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s a coincidence that I was looking at the website, and…”

Stiles can tell she’s only trying to reassure herself, and failing miserably. There’s no way the exact same lingerie set as she’d put in her shopping cart could be a coincidence, and she knows it.

“One hell of a coincidence,” Scott says meekly as he throws his arm around Allison’s shoulder.

“So what do we do now?” Parrish asks, looking expectantly at the Chief.

“I’m getting Boyd and Erica to keep an eye on Daehler,” the Chief says, determined, “And I’m putting extra surveillance on Allison’s house. I want patrol units driving by her house at least every two hours.”

“Is that gonna be enough?” Derek asks, his forehead wrinkled with worry-lines.

“It’ll have to be,” the Chief sighs, “We can’t exactly permit ourselves to go outside the law now, can we?”

Jackson looks like he’s about to say something, but he wisely keeps it to himself, while everyone else just nods. Allison’s still standing there, worried and unsettled, until the Chief puts on an encouraging smile and points towards the cakes.

“Now, come on,” he says, “It’s still Allison’s birthday and we’re going to celebrate!”

“Yeah!” Scott says, pulling Allison a little closer to him, which earns him a smile.

“Yeah, come on, I wanna have a taste of that chocolate cake!” Stiles says, leering at the delicious pastries. “Oh, and is that one raspberry? I love raspberry. And that one with the whipped cream looks amazing as well!”

“So basically you want _all_ the cakes?” Derek smirks at him.

“And I’m not supposed to have any?” John eyes him with a quirked eyebrow.

“I’m… young and healthy?” Stiles tries, accepting a cardboard plate with a piece of the chocolate cake that Allison hands him.

“Not if you keep eating like that…” Kira mutters, her face the perfect picture of innocence.

Stiles grumbles, eying his piece of cake that he’s _not_ going to start before everyone gets their piece.

“To Allison!” the Chief says as he raises his plate with cake - the one with the fruit, Stiles can live with that - and everyone joins in the well-wishing.

Allison actually smiles again, albeit a bit subdued, and then takes a big bite from her piece, chocolate smeared over her lips. Stiles moans when he takes his first bite, and when he glances over at Derek, he finds Derek’s eyes fixed on him. Stiles deliberately licks the stray chocolate off his lips nice and slowly, holding Derek’s attention. Derek’s eyes are dark, lingering on Stiles’ mouth, which is the perfect opportunity for Stiles to reach over and steal a raspberry off Derek’s plate.

“Hey!” Derek calls out as Stiles pops the raspberry in his mouth with a huge grin. In retaliation, Derek swipes his finger over the dollop of whipped cream on Stiles’ piece and then proceeds to stick that finger into his mouth, slowly sucking off the whipped cream.

Stiles makes a noise that is surely embarrassing - given the cackle Jackson lets out - as he tracks Derek’s lips sliding over his finger.

“Oh Lord,” John rolls his eyes, busying himself with his own piece.

Stiles shakes his head at Derek, narrowing his eyes as Derek just laughs, and continues to dig into his cake.

“So Allison, big party tonight?” Kira asks.

“Nah,” Allison says, with a smile, “Just a dinner with my dad. It’s just the two of us. My granddad is still in the hospital, so…”

“Well, that sounds nice though, some quality time with the parental unit,” Stiles smiles, then winks at his father.

“It is,” Allison says, nodding, “It’s good to spend time with him.”

“How’s your grandfather?” Scott asks with a mouthful of fruit.

Allison smirks, which makes Scott put his hand in front of his mouth, swallowing down his food.

“He’s doing good,” Allison says, “I mean, considering the severity of the surgery. But yeah, so far things are good. No signs of rejection or anything.”

“That’s good, I’m glad,” Scott nods.

***

“So, uhm…” Derek doesn’t look up from his computer keyboard, instead ducks his head a little deeper when Stiles looks up at him.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, shuffling his chair a little closer to Derek.

“I was thinking maybe tonight you could…” Derek says, shrugging in what Stiles is sure is meant to be a nonchalant way, but failing. “You know, maybe you could stay over at my place? Because, uhm, I mean, it makes sense. My place is closer, and we have the early shift again tomorrow. You’d have less of a drive, and we’d save on gas money too, if you think about it. We could leave one of our cars here in the parking lot. So… if you’d want?”

Stiles grins, ear to ear, his chest filling with a warm sensation as he looks at Derek.

“Less of a drive?” Stiles smiles, trying hard not to chuckle. “And, you know… save money on gas?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, finally looking at Stiles, his cheeks a bit rosy.

“That’s why you’re asking me to spend the night?” Stiles grins.

“Well…” Derek trails off, pressing his lips together tightly.

Stiles is hit by a wave of affection, the way Derek is actually blushing as he asks Stiles to stay over, the way he’s looking at Stiles now, his eyes wide as if trying to gauge Stiles’ reaction. And Stiles is itching to touch…

He pushes himself up off his chair, tapping Derek on the shoulder quickly as he says, “Come on.”

“What?” Derek asks, looking up confused.

“Come,” Stiles says, his face surely a mixture of wonder and amusement, tugging at Derek’s arm.

Derek does as he says, grabbing his radio off his desk as he follows Stiles who disappears down the stairs to the underground level.  

“Stiles, what are you...?” Derek asks, catching up with him just as Stiles opens one of the doors in the hallway, grabbing Derek and pushing him in.

“This is the supply room,” Derek says as he looks around while Stiles closes the door again, flicking on the light, and shoving a case of blank paper in front of the door.

“You!” Stiles says, pushing Derek towards the wall and pressing himself against Derek’s body in a second. He presses his lips on Derek’s, before pulling back and muttering, “You with your ‘ _my place is closer_ ’ and your _economic_ reasons as to why I should spend the night.”

Derek huffs out a laugh, curling his arms around Stiles’ waist now. “I just meant…”

“You just want me in your bed tonight,” Stiles says, already breathless, his face so close to Derek’s he can feel Derek’s breath on his skin.

“Yes,” Derek says, the whispered admission falling from his lips.

Stiles answers with a kiss, catching Derek’s mouth against his in a desperate, needy smack of lips, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of Derek’s uniform shirt.

“Stiles, wait…” Derek mutters, but his hands reach around Stiles anyway, pulling him closer, tugging the back of Stiles’ shirt out of his pants, his palm finding the small of Stiles’ back.

And then it’s gone just as quickly as it touched Stiles’ skin, and Derek starts fumbling with his radio instead, putting the earpiece in his left ear and adjusting the volume a bit.

“It’s dead outside,” Stiles mutters, nuzzling his face against Derek’s neck as he slides his palms inside Derek’s now open shirt, his thumb flicking over a nipple, eliciting a shiver.

“We’re still on call,” Derek breathes out, sliding his radio to the side of his belt, and whether it’s a conscious move to make more room for Stiles in the front, he doesn’t know, but Stiles is sure he’ll use it anyway. “‘s okay…” Derek mutters, tilting his head back as Stiles latches his mouth over the skin of Derek’s neck, “I’ll…” He swallows, hard. “I’ll listen.”

Stiles thanks Derek by gliding his hand down, rubbing over the already there bulge in the front of Derek’s pants, and squeezing it gently. Derek gasps, his entire body twitching before he lets himself fall back against the wall.

“Fuck…” Derek breathes out, his lips slightly parted and Stiles accepts that as a ready invitation for him to press his against them.

Derek’s hands curve around Stiles’ ass, pulling him flush against him, Derek’s constrained hard-on pressing in the bow of Stiles’ hip. There’s a breathy noise escaping the depths of Stiles’ throat, that only makes Derek dig his fingers deeper into the rounds of Stiles’ butt. Stiles can hear faint babbling in Derek’s ear, not loud enough to make out what they’re saying, but Derek doesn’t react, doesn’t untangle himself from Stiles, so Stiles assumes they aren’t being called on. He figures it’s safe to slip his hand between their bodies then, thumb flicking open the button of Derek’s uniform pants - he fumbles a bit to catch it, Derek’s weapon belt being in the way - and slowly slides down the zipper.

“Stiles…” Derek whispers, licking his own lips as if to chase Stiles’ taste.

“You just wanted me in your bed tonight…” Stiles says again, his voice hushed, his nose pressed against Derek’s jugular.

“Still do…” Derek mutters, his voice hitching when Stiles finally drags his hand inside Derek’s boxers, wrapping long fingers around Derek’s hard cock. “I just…” Instead of finishing his sentence, he catches Stiles in another kiss, tongue tracing the seam of Stiles’ lips before being allowed in, exploring every inch of Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles’ cock is throbbing in his pants, painfully hard as he is, until Derek finally reaches down, fishing to open Stiles’ pants as well. Stiles tries not to waver, sliding his hand over Derek’s dick in the confines of his underwear in a steady rhythm.

Stiles jerks as Derek’s hand is finally on him, warm and tight as he’s enfolding his fingers around Stiles’ already leaking cock.

“I just want you…” Derek whispers against Stiles’ lips, as if he’s completing his thought from earlier, as the jerking of hands becomes more rushed, more desperate.

“I want you to want me,” Stiles says back, crushing his lips against Derek’s as Derek’s free hand comes up to palm the small of his back again, thumb brushing over the skin.

Stiles feels like he’s on fire, can feel the orgasm not-so-slowly building up, can feel the tingle of Derek’s lips against him, the taste of Derek on his tongue, while his firm, warm hand continues to stroke Stiles closer and closer to the edge.

Derek’s cock is twitching inside Stiles’ grip, leaking precome that Stiles smears over the head with his thumb.

Stiles can vaguely hear the faint chatter of Dispatch in Derek’s ear, but he ignores it, he couldn’t stop now if he tried, the need to feel Derek come against him too big. He feels like he’s falling apart, Derek’s stubble brushing against his neck, making him feel like he’s about to burst.

And then Derek grunts, abruptly removing his hand from Stiles’ back, flicking the earpiece out of his ear, his voice strained as he says, “Fuck, I can’t do this with Parrish in my ear.”

He sounds like he’s so close, but Stiles can’t help but bark out a laugh, saying, “Thank God!” as he speeds up the movement of his hand, jerking Derek off faster and faster, and it doesn’t take long until Derek comes, his head tilting back against the wall, a low moan slipping from his lips as he spurts all over Stiles’ hand.

“Fuck, that’s beautiful,” Stiles mutters, his eyes fixed on Derek’s face, from the closed eyes to the parted lips to the flush on his cheeks.

Derek grins dopily, slowly blinking open his eyes, his breathing still ragged. He’s still got his hand on Stiles’ dick though, and he starts stroking it again, flicking his wrist to give it a twist that feels _just_ right and Stiles can feel his balls tighten, and before he knows it, his orgasm is ripping through him, and he all but collapses against Derek, trapping him against the wall.

They’re quiet for a few moments, each catching their breath, Stiles nuzzling the underside of Derek’s jaw, the stubble prickling delightfully against his skin. Then Stiles starts to chuckle, burying his face deeper in Derek’s neck.

“What?” Derek asks, soft and amused.

“You couldn’t come with Parrish rambling in your ear,” Stiles sniggers, gripping the side of Derek’s shirt and pulling him closer against him.

Derek huffs out a laugh, picking up his earpiece again - as if Stiles reminded him of it - and sticking it back in his ear. He listens for a second, probably to know if they missed something important, but then Derek relaxes against Stiles’ touch again, so Stiles figures they’re good.

“No, it turns out I really really can’t,” Derek grins, shaking his head slightly.

“Good,” Stiles says, lifting his head to press his lips against Derek’s. Derek returns the favor.

“Good,” Stiles says again, grinning ear to ear.

“You’re just a little bit possessive, aren’t you?” Derek smiles, tilting his head to the side as he looks at Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles says, in his defense, “When I’m the one with his hand on your dick, I wouldn’t exactly appreciate it if it was hearing your best friend talk that got you over the edge, alright?”

Derek just shakes his head, amused, then catches Stiles in another quick kiss.

“Just so you know, I don’t condone sex in the workplace,” Derek says, his grin betraying how he really feels.

“Oh, well then you just got horribly carried away,” Stiles says, his eyes widening as he tries to hold down a smile.

“I did, didn’t I?” Derek says studiously, biting his bottom lip. “Must be my partner’s fault, really.”

“Must be,” Stiles nods, smugly, “I hear he’s irresistible.”

“That he is,” Derek smiles, then he looks down at the state of their uniforms and grimaces. “I hope you also have a spare one in your locker?”

Stiles looks down as well, wipes his dirty hand on his own already tainted uniform pants.

“Luckily, I do,” Stiles smiles.

“Always be prepared…” Derek mutters as they turn towards the door.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thanks to Space for the beta. 
> 
> \- Thanks to Nashi for the brainstorm and some of the ideas in this chapter.

Derek groans as he drops his bag right by the door, making a beeline for the couch and collapsing down on it. He closes his eyes as he tilts his head back, stretching out his legs in front of him.

“I officially vote for no more days like these,” Stiles says, kicking off his shoes and sliding them haphazardly next to Derek’s bag.

Derek makes a moaning noise that sounds very much like an agreement, and Stiles contemplates joining Derek on the couch, until he opts for the bed instead. He plops down on it, spreading his arms and legs like a starfish right in the middle of the mattress.

“Why do they always run?” Derek asks after a while.

“Why do they always start climbing up things?” Stiles counters, staring up at the ceiling.

“At least you didn’t tear your pants,” Derek mutters, because yes, the suspect made a run for it, clambering over a jagged fence that caused a nice long rip in Derek’s uniform pants while climbing after him, just by the knee.

“You looked really hot when you cuffed him though,” Stiles smirks, lifting his head to look at Derek, “All butch and angry and shit.”

Derek snorts, arching an eyebrow at Stiles, “Grumpy?”

“I was so wrong before,” Stiles says with a smile, “I’d definitely get into Officer Grumpy Cat’s pants.”

Derek groans, rolling his eyes, “That sounds so wrong.”

Stiles just chuckles, lifting his hips off the bed so he can slide his sweatpants off. He’s not going to lie, he’s tired to the bone, but he’s also… still kind of adrenaline fueled. Still worked up about the hard day’s work, the carjackers they caught, the chase, the successful raids they made in the perps’ houses. It’s after midnight but he’s not entirely sure he could fall asleep straight away.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks, a sleepy grin on his face as he watches Stiles slip out of his shirt as well.

“I am getting undressed and I really feel like you should join me,” Stiles grins back, lazily groping his soft dick through his boxers, giving it a few tugs.

“You’re shameless,” Derek says, pushing himself off the couch with what seems to be great struggle, and toeing off his shoes.

“Oh please, you’re the one that was all ‘It makes so much more sense to stay over, Stiles’ again,” Stiles says, sliding up on the bed a little bit until he can rest his head on one of the pillows. He moves his hand smoothly down his stomach, fingers disappearing into the waistband of his boxers. He wraps his fingers around his cock again, slowly hardening, as he watches Derek tug his shirt over his head.

“We start at ten tomorrow, I just thought…” Derek trails off when his gaze reaches Stiles, intrigued eyes following the movement of Stiles’ hand inside his boxers.

He steps out of his pants, slides his boxers down right with them and leaves them where they fall on the floor. Stiles smiles when Derek puts his knee down on the bed, leaning over to kiss him.

“Practical reasons, right?” Stiles smirks before pressing his lips firmly against Derek’s. He can feel Derek nod slightly in answer, but he doesn’t break the kiss. It’s lazy and relaxed, and Stiles takes his time to enjoy the feeling of Derek’s lips on his, of the little swipe of tongue every so often, of Derek’s hand dropping down over Stiles’, lazily stroking him into full hardness.

Stiles pushes himself up on his elbow, his lips never leaving Derek’s as he flips them around, pressing Derek into the soft sheets. There’s a content hum escaping from somewhere deep inside Derek’s throat as he goes pliant under Stiles’ touch. Stiles likes the sounds Derek makes, the way their bodies feel against each other. Stiles trails kisses down Derek’s neck, nosing underneath his jawline. Derek’s breathing is heavy as Stiles wraps his fingers around Derek’s cock - he’s not entirely hard, not quite there yet - which causes Derek’s hand to slip away from Stiles’ hard dick, but that’s fine. Stiles can wait. Right now, he just wants to focus on Derek. Wants to taste every inch of his skin, wants to feel Derek in his palm, hot and heavy. The stubble prickles at Stiles’ lips, tingling, as Derek’s hand caresses Stiles’ side absentmindedly, humming when Stiles flicks his wrist.

Derek’s skin tastes clean, pure, with a tiny hint of the shower gel he used after his shift, and Stiles swipes his tongue out, licking the patch of skin underneath Derek’s ear before latching his lips onto it, sucking. He’s not trying to leave a mark, per se, but he knows how much Derek likes it, how it makes him squirm, which is… not what Derek is doing right now. Instead, his breathing seems to have evened out, despite the fact that Stiles is pulling out his best moves here and…

Stiles lifts his head, stills his hand on Derek’s dick to look at him and… Derek’s eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, a steady sound of smooth breathing falling from them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Stiles mutters, but Derek doesn’t move a muscle, apparently sound asleep.

Stiles huffs, falling over onto his back and not even caring that he’s jostling the bed. Derek doesn’t wake up anyway. He looks over at him, and yeah, okay, he looks unbelievably beautiful and peaceful, but did he really have to fall asleep on Stiles while they were doing _that_?

Stiles knows that it’s been a long day, and that Derek was incredibly tired, and it’s really nothing personal but still… he can’t help but feel the sting a little bit. And at the same time, he’s still painfully hard and a little bit adrenaline fueled. He glances over at Derek again, before groaning as he gets up off the bed and pads into the bathroom. He might slam the door a little bit too hard, but it doesn’t seem like there’s any movement from Derek’s side anyway.

And yeah, jerking off while sitting on the side of the bathtub is not exactly the way he imagined ending his day, but damn, it’ll do the job.

***

Stiles wakes up to the blaring of the alarm clock, and to a headful of hair tickling under his chin. Derek grunts at the sound, rolling off of Stiles to hit the off button.

“How can it be time to get to work already?” Derek mutters, one arm still slung over Stiles’ chest.

“I dunno…” Stiles says, stretching out a bit as he glances over to Derek. Derek, whose hair is all askew, who’s blinking his eyes rapidly to get used to the light, smacking his lips together. Stiles looks over as he says innocently, “I mean, you sure got a good night’s sleep behind you…”

Derek frowns a bit, confused, now looking over at Stiles who just arches an eyebrow. And Stiles can tell the exact moment that Derek remembers, his mouth forming a perfect ‘o’, his eyes going wide, his cheeks flushing.

“Oh shit,” Derek mutters, pushing himself up on one elbow, looking at Stiles worriedly. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Stiles grins, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he moves to get up. “You were tired.”

“No, Stiles…” Derek reaches out, grabbing Stiles’ arm to make him look at him again. The worry on his face is kind of adorable, if Stiles is completely honest with himself. “I’m so sorry, that was such a shitty thing to do.”

Stiles’ face cracks open in a genuine smile, and he leans in to press his lips firmly against Derek’s - morning breath be damned - before hopping off the bed. “It’s fine. It was an exhausting day.”

Derek ducks his head, clearly a bit embarrassed about it anyway. “I left you with a hard-on.”

“Oh, I took care of that myself,” Stiles says, shooting Derek a grin. “You, however, didn’t get to have an orgasm last night.” Stiles shrugs, and it makes Derek smile after all.

“I swear I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that,” Derek says as he trots after Stiles into the bathroom.

“I know that,” Stiles says, smacking another kiss on Derek’s lips before placing his palm in the middle of Derek’s chest and nudging a little bit. “Now get out, I have to pee.”

“I’ve seen your dick before,” Derek grins, but he lets himself be guided towards the door anyway.

“You’ve lost all dick-privileges today,” Stiles smirks, and closes the bathroom door in Derek’s bewildered face.

***

The ambulance leaves with the sirens blaring just as Erica and Boyd arrive at the scene.

“How’s the manager doing?” Erica asks, nodding to where the ambulance rounds the corner and leaves their sight, Kira and Jackson’s patrol car right in front of them.

“He has a nasty head wound,” Derek says, “One of the perps hit him with his gun on the way out. Pretty big gash on his forehead, but the paramedics said his life isn’t in danger.”

Boyd nods, looks around to take in the surroundings of the small grocery store that just got robbed at closing time, when the manager was locking up.

“We kept the scene intact,” Stiles adds, “There’s just the trail of where the paramedics went in and out.”

“Lab is on it’s way,” Allison says as she hangs up her phone, putting it in her pocket. “They’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Okay, great,” Erica nods, “Video surveillance?”

“Scott’s talking to one of the employees that has access,” Allison says, pointing over to where Scott is speaking with one of the cashiers that got back to the store after realizing he forgot his backpack. He was the one that found the manager on the floor with a head wound and called 911.

“Thanks,” Erica says as she heads over to Scott, introducing herself to the cashier.

“Do we have a better description than the one I heard over the radio?” Boyd asks.

“Unfortunately not,” Derek says, “The manager was pretty out of it. Kira and Jackson went with him to the hospital. They’ll let us know as soon as they get anything more out of him.”

“Okay,” Boyd says, nodding as he exhales sharply.

“How’s the scorched guy investigation going?” Stiles asks.

“Cora and Isaac are on that right now,” Boyd says, “But his wife told us that he’d mentioned having the feeling of being followed before he died. It started after he broke his wrist. Cora and Isaac are following a lead at the hospital.”

“At the hospital?” Stiles frowns, an uneasy feeling playing around in his stomach. He turns to Derek. “Maybe… You don’t think…?”

“Daehler?” Derek glares at him, clearly on the same page as Stiles.

“At the hospital?” Allison asks, apprehensive.

“When Derek was in for smoke inhalation,” Stiles starts, “You know, after that fire on High Street…?”

“The one where Derek saved a hamster?” Boyd says, grinning quickly.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, suppressing a grin of his own before continuing, “We were at the hospital and I saw Daehler walking around there in nursing scrubs.”

“What?” Boyd says, frowning.

“We checked it out, we asked Scott’s mom, who works there,” Stiles goes on, “He’s not working there. I lost track of him when the doctor was examining Derek, but… I’m sure it was him.”

“Why would he walk around the hospital in scrubs?” Allison asks, perturbed.

“To blend in?” Derek says, “To gain access to the doctor’s lounge, the nurses station…?”

“I’m gonna call Cora and Isaac, let them know,” Boyd nods.

“You kept surveillance on him, right?” Stiles asks Boyd, “Did you notice anything?”

“Nothing,” Boyd sighs, “He’s just… He’s not slipping up yet. Normal routine, you know? Goes to the store, going running… We don’t have permission to monitor his phone lines, unfortunately. Erica snuck a look at his mail. Just regular stuff, bills, ads, tickets to some play…”

“What play?” Allison asks, stoic.

“I don’t know, we didn’t open it,” Boyd says, shrugging, “It was from The Beta Book Theatre…”

Allison lets out a shuddering breath as Boyd says the name, and Stiles has a bad feeling about this already.

“Allison?” Derek asks, and Stiles clearly isn’t the only one.

“I booked tickets on their site last week,” she says, “A modern production of ‘Peter and the Wolf’. I’m going with my friend Lydia.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences like this anymore,” Derek huffs.

“So, what? He’s staking out your mailbox?” Stiles asks, his eyebrows knitted together in a worried scowl.

Allison shakes her head, “I got the e-tickets. I haven’t even printed them out yet.”

“Allison…” Derek sighs, concern plastered all over his face, “I… your computer?”

“Do you think he’s… monitoring it somehow?” Allison asks, going a little bit pale in the face.

“I think it’s worth getting checked out,” Derek says, and Stiles nods furiously.

“It’s brand new!” Allison says, looking like she’s going to be sick any second now, “I just got it. It hasn’t left my apartment.”

“Maybe he got in somehow?” Stiles suggests, “Maybe he did it from a distance. I mean, we all know he’s smart.”

“I think Parrish is buddies with someone from the Computer Crime Unit, okay?” Derek says, placing a reassuring hand on Allison’s shoulder. “I’ll ask him about it, see if maybe that guy can take a look?”

“That does sound best,” Boyd agrees, “And I’ll definitely let Cora and Isaac know about him being at the hospital too.”

“Yeah, okay,” Allison nods, swallowing visibly.

“We’ll figure it out,” Boyd says, shooting her a reassuring smile, “But now…” He glances over at the store. “Derek, can you show me the way the perps used to get in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Derek nods, turning towards Allison and Stiles, “You keep the perimeter secured, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Stiles says, then he grins as he calls after Derek, “Don’t work too hard though. Wouldn’t want you to fall asleep…”

Stiles can see a moment of embarrassment flashing over Derek, before he turns his flush into a scowl and grumbles back, “You’re not funny.”

“On the contrary, my friend,” Stiles grins widely, with a wink.

Derek just shakes his head as he falls into step with Boyd.

“What was that all about?” Allison asks, a faint smile appearing on her face.

“Oh, I wish I could tell you, but it’s kinda…” Stiles can’t help but grin.

“Personal?” Allison fills in for him.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, “But Ally, if you could do me one giant favor today?” He looks at her full of anticipation.

“Sure,” she smiles.

“If you can find a way to make a joke about Derek being tired or falling asleep… I would love you forever,” Stiles all but chuckles.

“You two are weird…” Allison shakes her head, laughing, “I’ll see what I can do, Stilinski.”

“God bless you, Allison Argent,” Stiles beams.

***

Derek plops down in the chair next to Parrish with a loud “oomph”.

“Rough day?” Parrish asks, looking over from his multiple computer screens.

Before Derek can even answer, Stiles leans against the desk and says, “Careful. He might fall asleep on you where you stand. Or sit. Or lay…”

“Stiles,” Derek groans, rubbing his fingers over his eyes.

“I’m just concerned about your health, Derek,” Stiles says sweetly, putting his hands on either side of Derek’s shoulder and kneading slightly. “Wouldn’t want you to get worn-out again.”

“I feel like I’m missing something here…” Parrish says, eyeing them both carefully.

“Yeah, so was I, last night,” Stiles says as innocently as he can muster.

“You already had Allison crack jokes at my expense,” Derek groans, leaning back in the chair, “Do you really wanna get Parrish in on this as well?”

“I have a feeling I really _really_ don’t want to know,” Parrish laughs.

“You’re a good friend,” Derek mutters, swatting Stiles’ hands off his shoulders.

Then the phone rings, and Parrish reaches for it as he tells Derek and Stiles “One sec, guys.”

Derek rolls his chair away from Parrish a bit, creating a distance so he doesn’t disturb the dispatcher’s 911 call. Stiles follows him, pushing the chair into the adjacent empty office.

“Work was pretty hard yesterday,” Derek all but whines.

“Work wasn’t the only thing that was hard yesterday…” Stiles mutters, without missing a beat.

Derek heaves a sigh, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. “I fell asleep during sex,” he whispers, “Is that really such a crime?”

“Nah,” Stiles grins, running his fingers through Derek’s hair, above his ear. “There’s only one crime you’re guilty of, really.”

“If you say something like how I look in tight jeans or something…” Derek says, but he’s smiling anyway.

Stiles shakes his head. “487.”

“ _48_ \- that’s grand theft?” Derek frowns, confused.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, faux-mournfully. He leans on Derek’s chair, shaking his head sadly. “You stole my heart.”

“Oh God,” Derek groans at the bad joke, but he starts grinning from ear to ear anyway, and then he surges up to catch Stiles in a kiss, pulling him down in his lap.

“You are so lame,” Derek says, his eyes half-closed, his lips brushing against Stiles’, and he sounds more fond than Stiles has ever heard him before.

“Guys?” Parrish calls out then, and Stiles admits that he’d rather just slam the door shut and spend the next half hour or so with Derek in this empty office, but he knows Derek has to ask Parrish about Allison’s computer, so he reluctantly gets up and wheels Derek’s desk chair back into the Dispatch room.

“Also, _grand_ theft?” Derek whispers at him, “More like petty…”

“Ouch,” Stiles calls out, clutching his chest dramatically as Derek winks at him.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a few tags. But trust me when I say this will have a happy ending. :)

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles says for what feels like the hundredth time, as they walk through the hallway of the hospital together.

Derek is rigid next to him, deliberately keeping his distance, his jaw clenched. He hasn’t uttered more than a few words since the incident, refusing to catch Stiles’ gaze. Stiles can feel his heart pound in his chest. He keeps going over and over everything that has happened in his head. Should they have gotten back-up sooner? Could they have done things differently? Could he have avoided this? Protected Derek somehow?

Melissa meets them in the hallway, a sympathetic smile on her face.

“Dr. Martin’s already waiting for you,” she says as she puts a hand on Derek’s upper arm, guiding him towards the right examination room. Derek still doesn’t say a word, until Stiles tries to follow them in and Derek finally turns towards him. There’s still a smear of blood on his cheek and it makes Stiles feel nauseous all of a sudden.

“Wait here?” Derek asks, and he doesn’t leave any room for Stiles to answer as he turns into the room and Stiles is left gaping at a closed door.

“Der…” he mutters, so low that no one can hear him, before he takes a few steps towards the plastic chairs a little bit further along the hallway and slumps down in them, his belt clanking against the armrest. He lets out a shuddering breath, leans forward to bury his face in his hands and steady his breathing. His head feels like it’s pounding, and so does his heart.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, staring at the floor, until all of a sudden Melissa’s white Crocs come into view and he looks up at her, expectantly.

“Dr. Martin’s in with him,” she says right away, as if to stop him from getting up, “Stiles, did you get any of it on you?”

Stiles shakes his head.

“Are you sure?” Melissa asks, patiently.

“I… I was standing behind her,” Stiles shakes his head, “Ready to cuff ‘er. She spat it all on Derek, right in his face. He was talking, reading her her rights, his mouth was open…”

“I know,” Melissa nods, “He’s not sure if he might have swallowed some of her blood. He’s explaining it all to Dr. Martin now.”

“She could’ve lied, right?” Stiles’ head snaps up, looking hopeful at Melissa, “Like, she was pissed we got a warrant against her, then the whole thing where she struggled and busted open her lip… She could’ve seen the blood on his face and lied? To get back at us? To alarm us? Nothing as scary as someone screaming ‘HIV positive’ after they’ve bled on you, right?”

“That’s… a possibility,” Melissa says, giving him a weak but compassionate smile.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, even though he doesn’t believe a word of it himself. “Can we… like, should we bring her in? For a blood test as well?”

Melissa shakes her head, “Doctor - patient confidentiality, Stiles. And that’s even if she allows us to draw her blood.”

“She didn’t seem like the cooperating type,” Stiles sighs, resigned. Then he snaps his head up as he pushes himself out of the chair and says, a little too loudly, “This is just bullshit. She gets to have her rights protected, while my partner might be…” He waves in the direction of the door of the examination room but can’t bring himself to finish his sentence.

“I know, Stiles,” Melissa says, taking his hand in hers.

And Stiles knows that he’s yelling at the wrong person, of course. That Melissa is only here to help and to do her job. And to do more, Stiles knows, because reassuring Stiles and listening to him vent is not a part of it. He deflates quickly, mutters an apology at Melissa who pulls him into a motherly hug, petting the back of his head as Stiles lets out a shuddering breath against her shoulder.

After she leaves, Stiles slumps back into his seat, playing with the volume of his radio a bit while he waits. He tries not to think of the last time they were here in the hospital and Derek had gladly let him stay in the examination room.

It takes a while for the door to open, Stiles keeping a close eye on the door until Lydia emerges again.

“Lydia…” Stiles says as she steps out of the room, and he gets to his feet immediately.

“Stiles,” she nods with a friendly smile.

“He’s gonna be alright… isn’t he?” Stiles asks, his voice wavering.

“You know I can’t discuss much with you, Stiles,” Lydia says, clutching some papers to her chest, “Doctor - patient confidentiality.”

Melissa slips out of the room as well, passing them with a tray of tubes filled with blood - Derek’s blood.

“I know, but…” Stiles stammers at Lydia.

“You should probably talk to him yourself,” Lydia gives him a gentle smile.

Stiles nods, not really convinced, but then he slips into Derek’s examination room.

Derek is sitting on the side of a gurney, his finger absentmindedly rubbing over a small bandaid on his arm, no doubt where Melissa just drew blood. Stiles knows that he’s heard Stiles come in, but he doesn’t acknowledge that fact.

“Hey…” Stiles says, nervously, “What did Lydia say?”

“That the chance that I actually got infected is small,” Derek says, and yet he doesn’t seem reassured at all.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Stiles says, his heart still pounding in his chest.

“It’s not nonexistent,” Derek says, ducking his head, swallowing hard.

“Well, no, but…” Stiles trails off, not entirely sure what to say.

“She said there was a 0.5% chance…” Derek says, shrugging. “They don’t start you on a preventive cocktail until there’s a 1% chance, so…”

“So this is all good,” Stiles forces himself to say with as much enthusiasm as he can.

“Yeah,” Derek says, finally meeting Stiles’ gaze with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey…” Stiles says, taking a few steps closer to Derek, so he can bring up his hand over Derek’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, “It’s gonna be okay, Derek.”

Derek just nods, but very purposefully steps away from Stiles’ touch. Stiles doesn’t comment on it, even though his face falls. He understands how rattled Derek must feel, so he tries not to take it personally.

***

They make it back to the police station mostly in silence. Stiles drives, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road. He tries not to glance over at Derek too often, who is sitting next to him, staring out the window absentmindedly. They trod back into their office quietly, side by side. Derek drops his bag on his desk, but before he can sit down in his chair, Parrish sticks his head out of the briefing room and calls them both over.

“Bring us some good news, Parrish, my boy,” Stiles sighs as he steps into the room, but Scott’s crestfallen face and Allison looking like she’s about to explode tell him otherwise right away. Today is definitely not a good day.

“Wish I could,” Parrish sighs, leaning back against one of the desks.

“What happened?” Derek asks, all business.

“My buddy at CCU…?” Parrish starts, “He took a look at Allison’s laptop.”

“I have a feeling we’re not gonna like what he found,” Stiles mutters, looking from Parrish over to Allison.

“There’s surveillance equipment on it,” Allison bites out; her face contorted in bitterness.

“What?” Derek asks, frowning.

“Someone’s monitoring every move Allison makes on that computer,” Parrish explains, “I don’t know, he gave me a bunch of technical hoopla, but there’s been like… spyware shit installed on it.”

Stiles can feel himself gaping.

“Whatever I typed, whichever websites I visited,” Allison says, the horror audible in her voice, “Someone was able to monitor it all from a distance.”

“Even the webcam,” Parrish says, carefully, gently, “They were able to access it remotely.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Allison says, her face pale but hard, determined. And honestly, Stiles isn’t even sure how she’s still standing.

“How did he do this?” Stiles asks, and he doesn’t even have to clarify who he’s talking about. There is only one person that could’ve done this to Allison, again. “How did he gain access to the laptop to be able to install it? Or could it be done remotely too?”

Parrish shakes his head, “My friend, he says it was done before Allison actually started using it. Before her programs were installed on it.”

“So… I don’t understand, this was done in the shop where it was bought?” Derek frowns, placing his hands flat on one of the desks as he leans forward a bit, trying to take it all in.

“Except…” Allison says, and her voice is but a whisper, “Except I didn’t buy it myself. It was a gift, from my grandfather.”

“The one who’s in the hospital?” Derek asks, and Allison nods.

There’s a horrible feeling settling in Stiles’ gut, and he can’t stop thinking about the way Scott described Allison’s grandfather. How he creeped him out. The same grandfather that is in the hospital with a new heart, a fresh transplant after Allison told them there wasn’t much hope of him making it to the top of the list…

“Could he…?” Stiles starts, but he has no idea how to even ask someone if it’d be possible if their own flesh and blood could be working together with their stalker, the person who’s caused them so much pain. “Does your grandfather know Daehler?”

Allison shakes her head, too fast, too fervently. “It can’t be,” she says, but the words come out shaky and unsure.

“Maybe…” Derek says, but he trails off, seemingly lost in thought.

Stiles looks at him, and he can almost see the same wheels turning inside Derek’s head.

“Say it,” Allison says eventually, her jaw clenched, her arms crossed in front of her.

“Allison, he’s your grandfather…” Scott says, hesitantly.

“Who has never ever given me a gift in my entire life unless it was money for my birthday,” Allison says, her voice hardened, “And all of a sudden he gives me a laptop that turns out to be full of surveillance material? I thought maybe he wanted to do something nice, spend some money on his family because he thought he wasn’t going to get a new heart, because he thought he was going to die…”

“That could still be it,” Derek offers, hesitantly.

“But the other option?” Allison asks, challenging Derek to say it.

“Daehler being released, us finding him snooping around the hospital in scrubs at the same time as you getting a laptop with this… this _spyware shit_ on it,” Derek starts. He sighs, like he doesn’t want to go on, doesn’t feel comfortable accusing Allison’s grandfather of this. But they all know it needs to be said now, and Derek continues. “Your grandfather needing a new heart… Being so close to death. It makes people desperate, Allison.”

“Oh God,” Allison says, and it pains Stiles to see her face, the hurt and betrayal plain for everyone to see.

But they need to know, they need to figure it out, to get to the bottom of this before more people get hurt. So Stiles steels himself, takes a deep breath and says the words he knows the others have been thinking too. “The dead body missing a heart.”

There’s a beat of silence filling the room.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Allison says, pale as a sheet, and she rushes out of the briefing room, heading straight for the bathrooms. Scott runs after her, hot on her heels.

“We need to talk with Boyd, Cora, and the others...” Derek sighs.

“We need to make sure we can make this case before we do anything on the record though,” Stiles says, “We can’t put Allison through this otherwise.”

Derek and Parrish nod simultaneously. “We should probably also talk to the Chief…” Derek says, looking at Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles smiles weakly, “I’m sure I can evoke some father-son privileges in handling this delicately.”

“Stiles, the Chief is more subtle than you are, I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Derek says, and there’s an actual tiny smile tugging at his lips as he says it.

“Rude,” Stiles says, but he smiles back.

“Allison should know though,” Parrish says, and Stiles and Derek both nod.

***

Allison agrees, now fully convinced that her grandfather is playing a role in this, and they spend about an hour in the Chief’s office laying it all out. Then God knows how long when the Chief calls in Cora, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, and they all try to piece everything together. The body that was missing a heart, Daehler at the hospital, Gerard Argent getting a heart transplant in some private clinic, the surveillance on Allison’s laptop… It all fits, it all makes sense if Gerard and Daehler are working together. Or one working for the other.

The Detectives jump on the case, starting by following the trail of the private clinic where Gerard had his surgery.

In all the commotion of the day, Stiles has managed to push the thoughts of Derek’s hospital visit to the back of his mind, forcing himself not to worry about it, until they reach Derek’s loft after their shift ends, where Stiles’ jeep is waiting for him.

Stiles follows Derek up to the loft though, shrugs off his jacket when Derek closes the door behind them.

“So do you wanna just get take-out?” Stiles asks, as casual as he can muster, “I’m not really in the mood for cooking much.”

“Stiles…” Derek says, all but sighing.

“Or something we can just throw in the microwave,” Stiles goes on, heading towards the kitchen, “I don’t know if maybe you have something in your freezer, or a box of mac and cheese…?”

“Stiles!” Derek says, a little more determined this time, and it makes Stiles stop in his tracks.

“We need to talk,” Derek says, and God, Stiles hates those words. Wishes he could ban those words from everyone’s vocabulary, because nothing good ever comes after ‘we need to talk’.

“No, we don’t,” Stiles says, turning around to face Derek again, and he starts pacing around, “We really don’t. Because I’ve been watching you all day, Derek, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to want to hear whatever it is you’re going to say next. Because you’re going to make some horrible, stupid-ass decision, and you’re not thinking straight, so you really shouldn’t. You should just… not.”

Derek sighs, his face already looking guilty, and suddenly Stiles isn’t hungry anymore. “Stiles…”

“No…” Stiles says, stubborn, shaking his head.

“I think you should go home tonight,” Derek says softly, disregarding Stiles’ protest.

“No, see…” Stiles says, putting up a finger, “I would if I thought this was just a matter of you needing some time to yourself, to process what has happened today. But I know you, Derek. And you telling me to go home now is you telling me to go home forever, and there is no reason for that. You’re making impulse decisions.”

“I think we should take a break,” Derek says, and Derek saying the words looks about as painful as is it for Stiles to hear them.  

“I really think we shouldn’t,” Stiles says, and he can feel the sting in his eyes already.

“I don’t want to put you in any kind of danger,” Derek says, shaking his head sadly.

“Do you have any idea how rash you are being? You’re jumping the gun by so far!” Stiles calls out, “We haven’t even done anything more than handjobs and some rubbing off and you’re already thinking about infecting me! When we don’t even know if _you_ are! I know that what happened today was fucking scary, and I am terrified too, Derek! Terrified of you being sick.”

He takes a few steps closer to Derek, gently cups the side of his face, thumb stroking over the stubble on Derek’s jawline.  

“But you told me yourself how good the chances were for you,” Stiles continues, and he leans in, presses his lips softly against Derek, a desperate attempt to keep him close, to keep him, _period_. Derek’s hands don’t come up and meet Stiles, his lips barely moving against Stiles’. Stiles grips his free hand in Derek’s shirt, tugging him closer, trying to make him move, but all it does is make Derek break free, shaking his head sadly as their lips part again, and Derek takes a few steps out of Stiles’ personal space.

“You can’t just throw this all away on the ridiculously small chance that you got infected!” Stiles calls out, angrily.

“But what if I did, Stiles?” Derek counters, “What if I’m HIV positive?”

“What if you’re completely fine?” Stiles yells out, “You’re thinking of doom-scenarios, Derek. This is insane! You’ll get tested in… what is it? A month? Three months? Regular tests for a year or so? And then you’re in the clear.”

“Or I’ll be sick,” Derek says, firm.

“Why do you always think of the worst case scenario?” Stiles sighs, running his hands through his hair.  

“Because good things don’t happen to me, Stiles,” Derek says, resigned. “But I can’t take you down with me.”

“And what if I would just want to be there for you?” Stiles asks, almost pleading, “What if I want to be there, no matter what the outcome?”

Derek stills, averts his gaze to the floor. He’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful. And then he lifts his head and looks straight at Stiles as he says, “Maybe I don’t want you to be.”

It feels like a punch to the gut to Stiles, and the tears that were stinging in his eyes earlier now slowly spill over his cheeks. It’s like he’s lost all fight in him all of a sudden, because Derek doesn’t _want_ him to fight for him.

Stiles nods, like he understands, even though he doesn’t understand a single thing that’s happened today. The entire day is a blur, and the Derek standing before him doesn’t seem like the same Derek he woke up with this morning.  

“Go home, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice strangled and broken, and Stiles simply doesn’t know what else to do.

So he nods, turns away from Derek, and slowly makes his way out the door. 


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles opens the door in his sweatpants and a loose shirt he spilt some Coke on earlier but couldn’t be bothered to change. He’s pretty sure his hair is greasy and sticking out on all sides from all the times he’s run his hands through it, but he honestly can’t bring himself to care.

“I guessed there’d be a reason Scott nearly bribed me to be able to ride with you tomorrow,” his father sighs as he takes a good look at Stiles.

Stiles just leaves the door open and plods back towards the couch, leaving his father to come in and close the door behind himself.

“Though I wish you’d really come talk to me yourself, son,” John says, heading towards the kitchen and reaching for the coffee filters.

“I’m fine,” Stiles huffs, curling his couch blanket around him again tightly.

“Yes, I can see that,” John rolls his eyes, turning on the coffeemaker and joining Stiles in the living room.

Stiles doesn’t respond to that.

“Alright, so what happened between you and Derek?” John asks, plopping down on the couch next to Stiles, his hand coming up to rest in Stiles’ hair for a second. Stiles just shrugs. “Because I can see you’re clearly _not_ fine, son.”

Stiles sighs, refusing to meet his father’s gaze as he finally says, “That intervention the other day…”

“The arrest warrant?” John asks.

Stiles nods. “You read the report.”

“I did,” John answers, carefully, “I notified Morell about it.” Stiles nods, it’s common for the Stress Team to reach out in cases like these. “I also read that the chances of him being infected are very small though.”

Stiles snorts. Doesn’t he know it? “Tell that to Derek,” he huffs, probably a bit more irritated than his father deserves.

“I take it there’s a little bit more to this story than just your partner being scared?” John asks tentatively. Stiles _knows_ that he knows. Not a whole lot goes on in their precinct without the Chief knowing about it, and suddenly there’s guilt flooding him over not having told his father yet.

“Derek and I…” Stiles starts, his heart aching at the fact that he has to use the past tense, “We were… kinda seeing each other?”

He looks at John, his face in a grimace.

“I figured as much,” John says, a reassuring soft smile on his face.

“I figured you figured…” Stiles mutters, a tiny smile disappearing just as quickly as it came.

“Where is the time you begged me not to work with him, huh?” John asks, sympathetically, “Where you thought he hated everyone?”

“Yeah, well…” Stiles shrugs, “I guess maybe we’re back to that?”

“You don’t mean that,” John says, shaking his head confidently.

“He broke up with me, Dad,” Stiles says, the words tugging at his heart, “Doesn’t want me around.”

“And you know _why_ , Stiles,” John says.

“It doesn’t matter why,” Stiles mumbles, slumping a bit lower into the couch.

“I think it really does,” John says, “Listen, far be it for me to go and defend someone who’s clearly hurt you. But Stiles, you know he’s only doing this to protect you.”

“I don’t want him to!” Stiles calls out, vehemently.

“And that scares me, Stiles,” John says, “As I’m sure it scares Derek. He cares about you, he doesn’t want to put you in danger.”

“You sound just like him,” Stiles huffs, petulant. “He’s almost certain to be fine! Why does everyone seem to be ignoring that possibility?”

“Because…” John says, turning to face Stiles completely. “What if he isn’t? Can you imagine… Caring about someone so deeply and knowing that _you_ yourself could be hurting them? Could be putting their life in danger?”

Stiles sighs. It’s true that he hasn’t exactly looked at this from Derek’s point of view yet. All he knows is that he wants to be with Derek, no matter what. That he can’t bear the thought of Derek going through this alone. But then again, he’s not the one possibly carrying something inside him that could hurt Derek… The thought churns in his stomach.

“I…” Stiles starts, and he ducks his head. “Everything was going so well.”

“Give him some time,” John says, his arm looping around Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m not saying he’s making the right decision here, as much as I would want my own kid to be safe. But you know Derek. He’s probably just as confused and hurt as you are. And he’s thinking like he always does, like a cop… React quickly and efficiently to make sure everyone is out of the line of danger.”

Stiles snorts sadly, shaking his head. “Typical.”

“We’re a special race, son,” John smiles, leaning his head back against the couch. “Drove your mother crazy sometimes.”

“She managed to stick with you after all,” Stiles says, the memory of his mother spreading a warm glow inside his chest.

“That she did,” John says, a heartwarming, loving smile spreading over his face, “But don’t think we never had our differences. Or that it wasn’t touch and go for us in the beginning at times either.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, because he’s never known about this.

“Like with any couple,” John shrugs, “But we loved each other enough to make it work.”

“Do you think…?” Stiles starts, but he’s not quite sure how to follow up. He scratches the back of his neck, worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Do I think you and Derek can make it work?” John fills in anyway.

Stiles just looks at him, a sheepish frown on his face as he shrugs.

“I really don’t know, Stiles. Before today I wasn’t even officially in the loop on the both of you,” he says pointedly.

“Sorry,” Stiles mutters bashfully.

“But I hope so,” his father says, genuinely. “I wouldn’t have partnered the two of you up if I didn’t think you’d be a good influence on each other.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t exactly think of this though…” Stiles tries a weak smile.

John lets out a huff of laughter as he gets up off the couch, “Maybe not, no.” He smiles at Stiles as he heads for the kitchen. “Coffee?”

Stiles nods gratefully.

***

“Hey Cora,” Stiles calls out as he sees her at the far end of the hallway.

She stops in her tracks, approaching Stiles immediately. “Don’t have much time today, Stiles,” she says with an apologetic look on her face, “Shit is hitting the fan all over.”

“What happened?” Stiles frowns.

“Didn’t Derek tell you?” Cora asks nonplussed. “We arrested the doctor that operated on Gerard Argent.”

“What?” Stiles is taken aback.

“Turns out he didn’t even have a medical license anymore,” Cora explains, “The whole thing was so fishy. He can’t explain where the transplant heart came from, or even how they managed to perform surgery in a private clinic that isn’t supposed to do major surgeries like that! The paperwork on the transplant heart makes no sense at all.”

“Oh man,” Stiles sighs, “This is so bad. Poor Allison.”

“Yeah,” Cora says, shaking her head, “Argent’s been transferred back to Beacon Hills Memorial, and we’ve got a team on him 24/7. We’re waiting for a court order to be able to get DNA from his new heart.”

“To see if it matches your murder victim?” Stiles asks, frowning.

“Yeah,” Cora nods, “I’m surprised Derek hasn’t told you all this. We haven’t gone home since yesterday.”

“Wait, what? Derek’s pulling a double shift?” Stiles asks, startled.

“Yeah, he…” Cora trails off, she frowns, clearly noting Stiles’ surprised face. “He volunteered. He said you had other plans…”

Stiles swallows, hard. His lips form a thin line as he nods at Cora, trying not to let the betrayal show too much on his face.

“Yeah,” he finally says, flat, “Well, I’ll let you get on with the good work then.”

“Gotta get back to Boyd,” she says, waving her hand in the direction of the interrogation room, “We’ve been questioning the surgeon for hours now.”

“Good luck,” Stiles says stiffly, as he heads towards the break room.

Derek and Scott are sitting on the edge of a table, heads ducked in quiet conversation.

“You’re gonna be making decisions for me at work too now, Hale?” Stiles seethes as he slams the door shut forcibly behind him.

Both Derek and Scott’s heads snap up, Scott looking confused and wary between the both of them. Derek, however, clearly expected this, his face one stoic mask.

“I didn’t think you’d necessarily want the extra hours,” Derek says.

“Who are you to decide that for me?” Stiles snaps, “Who are you to decide anything in my life? I’m a grown-ass man. I can make decisions for myself without you ruling over what’s best for me!”

Scott slides off the table quietly, shoots Stiles an apologetic look - at least _someone_ does - as he sneaks out the door, leaving Derek and Stiles alone in the break room.

“Cora called me, they needed people, I…” Derek shakes his head, “I didn’t think you’d want to see me more than you had to after what happened.”

“After what happened?” Stiles scoffs. “After you broke up with me, you mean? _You_ were the one that kicked me out, Derek! Or don’t you remember? You were the one that didn’t want to see me anymore! I practically begged to stay.”

“You know that’s not how it went,” Derek bites back, “It’s not that I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“So what? You don’t want to work with me anymore?” Stiles asks, his entire body shaking with anger and fear. He’s afraid of Derek’s answer. He doesn’t want to go back to being strangers, to losing what they built up.

“Of course I still want to work with you!” Derek calls out, “Stiles, this isn’t…” He sighs, rubbing his fingers over his eyes as he ducks his head. “I don’t know… I…” Derek lets out a frustrating grumble, his hands covering his eyes and just for a second, as Derek sighs deeply, Stiles thinks that maybe he’s going to say that he’s made a mistake, and Stiles can’t help but feel a surge of hope come over him.

But then Derek just shakes his head again. “Can we not do this, please?” he sighs, exasperated, and he tries to push past Stiles on his way to the exit.

“Derek…” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s arm and Derek spins around, facing him.

“Allison’s grandfather’s in custody,” Derek says, like he’s defeated, “He probably had someone murdered for his heart. He’s most likely working with Daehler, his own granddaughter’s stalker. But we don’t even have an arrest warrant on Daehler yet. I just… Can we focus on this?”

There are worry lines around Derek’s eyes, a permanent frown on his forehead. He looks stressed and worn out, and as much as Stiles is feeling sorry for himself, he can’t help but feel even worse for Derek.

“Are you thinking about yourself as well?” Stiles asks, his voice surprisingly soft, “Or just about everyone else? At some point you’re going to have to take a breather, Derek. Sleep. Relax. Take some time to process things.”

“I’ll relax when Daehler is in jail,” Derek shrugs, refusing to meet Stiles’ eyes.

“And if that’s not any time soon?” Stiles counters, his hand still curled around Derek’s upper arm. He counts it a win that Derek hasn’t pulled away yet.

“Then that means we’re not working hard enough to get him there,” Derek simply answers, and Stiles lets his hand slip as Derek steps out of his touch and heads out the door.

***

Stiles takes the fact that Derek hands over the car keys as they put their bags in the trunk of the patrol car as some kind of peace offering. It’s not exactly an apology or a promise to talk, but Stiles knows to take what he can get.

They drive out quietly, Derek looking over at Stiles every so often, but when Stiles tries to catch his gaze, Derek quickly averts his eyes, looking out the window again. Stiles represses a sigh.

There’s some inane chatter on the radio, nothing important to them, and the streets are relatively calm until some idiot burns a red light right in front of their faces.

“What the…” Stiles breathes out, before reaching over to turn on the sirens. Derek beats him to it though, sirens blaring as Stiles accelerates to catch up with the black Chevy that is now trying to get away from them.

“214, flash!” Derek calls out over the radio, giving their position and the license plate of the car trying to get away before explaining what’s going on.

“213 is on Fifth, we’re coming your way,” Scott’s voice rings through the speaker.

“He’s taking Elm Street,” Derek yells into the radio to be heard over the sirens, one hand bracing himself on the dashboard as Stiles takes the same turn as the car that’s gone out of control in front of him, adrenaline pumping through him. “Scott, take Park and try and cut him off on Washington Square.”

“On it,” Scott yells back, their sirens blaring in the background as well.

“Car is registered to a Raymond Evans,” Parrish says through the speakers, “Resident of Beacon Hills, California. Two priors for possession of illegal substances.”

The black Chevy swerves in front of them as it narrowly avoids hitting a couple of parked cars by the side of the road, which gives Stiles just enough advantage to come up beside him and drive him up the - empty - sidewalk. The car screeches to a halt - one driver, no passengers visible - with the patrol car blocking its exit.

Derek and Stiles jump out of their car almost simultaneously, guns drawn on the driver as Stiles rounds the car and Derek opens the driver’s door. The guy already has his hands up - luckily he doesn’t seem to be trying to evade them anymore - and steps out of the car easily as Derek pulls at his arm, putting away his gun. Stiles keeps his gun steadily pointed at the guy - making sure Derek is never in his line of fire - until Derek snaps the handcuffs on him.

“You Raymond Evans?” Stiles asks as he holsters his gun, just as Scott and Allison’s patrol car pulls up.

The guy nods, and he actually has the decency to look somewhat apologetic, albeit a bit _stoned_ as well. Stiles sighs as he shakes his head, then grabs his radio, “Dispatch for 214. Vehicle intercepted. One person in custody. 213 arriving at the scene as well, and we are…” Stiles cranes his neck to see where exactly they are. “... Hill Street, almost at the intersection with Washington.”

“Copy that, 214,” Parrish replies, “Do you need more back-up?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Stiles answers, then releases the button of his microphone as he looks at their suspect. “Ray, my man… you’re having a very bad day.”

The guy just grumbles as Scott and Allison start searching through the car.

“Did you seriously just flee for a red light?” Derek asks him, holding him against the patrol car, “Or you hiding something in there?” He nods towards the Chevrolet.

“Dude, I didn’t even see you guys behind me,” the guy scoffs, and Stiles can’t help but snort.

“Yeah, I’ve always thought our sirens were a bit… _subtle_ ,” Stiles muses, “ _Dude_.”

“Derek,” Scott says, lifting a plastic shopping bag out of the trunk of the car and handing it over to Derek.

Stiles grabs the suspect by the arm so Derek can nose through the bag, reaching one gloved hand inside it and grabbing a handful of little clear plastic baggies for Stiles to see.

“Nice,” Stiles nods, ‘cause those are exactly the type of baggies drug dealers use to divide up their merchandise before selling. “Wanna explain what you’re doing with those?”

The guy - Ray - just looks at Stiles disinterestedly and says without missing a beat, “I make tiny sandwiches.”

“Riiiight,” Stiles drawls out, his gaze meeting Derek, who just rolls his eyes. “Come on, smart guy.” Derek opens the door of their patrol car and Stiles guides the suspect onto the backseat before slamming the car door shut.

“World champion we got here,” Derek says dryly, and Stiles can’t help but smile at him.

***

“Cora says they have their court order,” Derek says as he’s looking down at his phone, surely at the text he just received.

“For Argent’s heart?” Stiles asks, putting the heap of identical little plastic baggies in a clear evidence bag, “To match the DNA?”

“Yeah,” Derek mutters, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen of his phone.

“In a way I’m hoping it’ll match, and it’ll all make sense and we can get to the bottom of this, but in another way…” Stiles sighs, thoughtful.

“Allison, right?” Derek asks, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Yeah,” Stiles admits, “I mean...I heard her aunt is a few bricks short of a load, and now her grandfather had someone whacked for a new heart? That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Derek nods, agreeing, “And after everything she’s already been through with Daehler.”

“What if it’s true?” Stiles says, because he feels so very bad for Allison, “What if her grandfather’s not only a murderer, but he’s also working with the very guy that stalked Allison? Possibly even helping him out to get better stalkerish access at her even!”

“Who needs strangers when you’ve got family to fuck you up, right?” Derek says, ruefully.

Stiles huffs. “Yeah…”

“Come on,” Derek says, moving towards the holding cells, “Lets go question our genius.”

Stiles nods and follows him, the evidence bag in his hand.

“Test came back positive, Raymond,” Derek says as he opens the cell door, “You’re really not supposed to smoke a few joints before getting behind the wheel.”

“Apparently it makes you miss those red lights,” Stiles smirks as Raymond steps out of his cell and follows them towards the interrogation room.

“That wasn’t me, man,” Raymond says, deadpan, “I’m being framed.”

“Well, you can tell us all about it,” Derek says as he indicates the chair their suspect can sit on. “In the meantime, our colleagues are executing that search warrant the judge gave us for your house. And we’ll see what they’ll find, alright.”

“All planted, dude,” Raymond says, shaking his head.

“Oh, you’re confident they’ll find something then,” Stiles says, “Convenient.”

“Whatever…” Raymond sighs, slouching down on his chair.

“And these baggies, Ray?” Stiles asks, holding up the evidence bag. “What were you doing with those, huh?”

“I collect them,” Raymond says, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looks at Stiles smugly.

“How do you know when you’ve got doubles?” Derek asks, deadpan, and it takes everything Stiles has not to bark out a laugh.

Raymond just looks at Derek dumbly.

***

“I hear they’ve found a nice amount of cannabis and pills at your guy’s house,” the Chief says as he joins Stiles and Derek in their office.

“A nice stash hidden under the floorboards,” Stiles beams, “Credit goes to Scott and Allison for finding that one.”

“Noted,” his father smiles at him, “But good work from the both of you as well.”

Derek smiles at the Chief, nodding gratefully.

“And I didn’t even crash the car!” Stiles jokes, winking at his father.

“And that’s a good thing too,” John says, pointedly, “The amount of damage to our cars each year already takes a nice bite out of the budget.”

“Jackson’s gotta be responsible for about half of that,” Derek mutters loud enough for the Chief to hear. The Chief just shoots him a look, but doesn’t comment.

“Either way,” he says, looking between Derek and Stiles, “You boys did a good job today. It’s a nice catch.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Derek says sincerely.

“The two of you work well together,” John adds, and even though he sounds all casual, Stiles knows his father well enough to know better, “You make a good team.”

He gives Stiles a poignant look before giving them a small wave and walking out of the office. The silence that’s left speaks volumes and Stiles clears his throat before he dares to look at Derek, who is staring out in front of him with a vacant look on his face.

“Subtlety,” Stiles says, to break the tension, “It’s the Stilinski way.”

Derek huffs out a small puff of air that Stiles thinks might’ve been a tiny laugh. But there are still dark circles around his eyes, and he looks tired and… empty.

“Hey,” Stiles says, reaching over to tap him on the shoulder. Derek looks up at the touch. “We’re done here, Derek. Go home.”

Derek inhales sharply, stares ahead like he’s contemplating it.

“You’ll be more useful tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some actual sleep,” Stiles continues, “You look like a wreck.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, give a smug retort maybe, but then he just nods his head as he gets up off of his chair. “Yeah, okay.”

Stiles doesn’t know whether to be relieved that Derek is actually taking his advice, or disappointed at the way Derek doesn’t even seem like himself right now. But then Derek picks up his stuff and as he’s standing by the door he looks back at Stiles.

“Hey,” Derek says, and he gives Stiles a tiny smirk, “I still look better than you.”

And Stiles actually smiles as Derek steps out of the office.


	13. Chapter 13

“Derek! Stiles!” John calls out through the office.

“Daddy- _ooooh_ Chief!” Stiles says as he swivels around on his chair, turning towards his father.

The Chief just gives him that look, the one Stiles is all too familiar with, so he gets up off his chair and straightens up.

“What’s up?” Stiles asks, frowning.

“The results came back,” the Chief says, his face growing solemn, “The heart matched our murder victim.”

“Holy sh…” Stiles trails off. He knew to expect this, and yet he still feels taken aback by the confirmation.

“So Argent had someone murdered to get his transplant,” Derek muses.

“That’s up to us to prove now,” the Chief says, “But he did get a dead guy’s heart, so either he paid big bucks and closed his eyes to where the organ came from, or he was the brains behind it all.”

“With Daehler conveniently involved?” Stiles weighs in, “He’s gotta be behind it.”

“Either way, Gerard Argent is now officially under arrest,” the Chief says, “I need the two of you to go to the hospital and place him under arrest, and relieve the team that’s there right now until the Detectives come to question him. Okay?”

“Sure thing,” Derek says, nodding dutifully, “Who’s there now?”

“McCall and Argent,” the Chief says with a pointed look.

“Oh,” Stiles breathes out.

“She wanted to,” the Chief explains, “She thought maybe she could get him to talk. She assured me she wouldn’t be soft on him. But I don’t want her to have to be the one to place him under arrest, you know?”

“Yeah, no, of course,” Stiles nods, “We got it, Chief.”

“Would be better later on too… defense lawyers and shit,” Derek mutters, “If they can twist it so that Allison seems biased…”

“That too,” the Chief nods at him.

“Always looking on the humanitarian side of things,” Stiles half-mocks.

“It’s something to take into consideration!” Derek argues, giving Stiles a look.

“I know!” Stiles says, holding up his hands in front of him in defense, “I was kidding, jeez.”

Derek just huffs, obviously holding in a remark, and then the Chief clears his throat and looks at them, pointedly.

“We’re on our way,” Stiles mumbles, taking the hint as he grabs the car keys and hands them to Derek. Derek takes them wordlessly and stuffs them in his pocket before taking Stiles’ bullet proof vest that was leaning against the desk and handing it over.

“Thanks,” Stiles mumbles, hoisting it over his shoulders as Derek puts on his own.

***

“I’m really starting to hate this hospital,” Stiles sighs as they walk through the big white hallways again.

“Yeah,” Derek mutters in agreement, his composure stiff.

Stiles does feel bad for Derek, even though he wants to punch him most of the time these days. Punch him and then kiss him and maybe shake him around a bit for giving up on Stiles so easily. Except that’s not what happened, and Stiles does know it. Which is why he feels bad and truly, he wishes there was something he could do for Derek, comfort him in some way. But comforting is hard in the particular situation they are in. All Stiles wants to do is throw his arms around him and tell him he loves him. But somehow Stiles thinks that will make things even more complicated, really.

“Just the men I needed to see!” Stiles can hear Melissa call out from somewhere behind him, and he turns towards her with a smile.

“Hi Mrs. McCall. Are we your favorite law enforcers yet?” Stiles says with a wink, “Did we beat Scott?”

Melissa just shakes her head amused, like she’s already used to Stiles’ particular brand of humor.

“You need to go see Dr. Martin,” Melissa turns mostly towards Derek, her face soft and smiling.

“But we need to go and relieve Scott and Allison,” Derek says, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“Trust me, that can wait another five minutes,” Melissa says, and she all but pushes them towards an empty examination room. “You just wait here and I’ll go find Dr. Martin. She’ll be here in a sec.”

“Mrs. McCall?” Stiles frowns at her, but she tilts her head to the side and raises her eyebrows at him like she used to do when Stiles was little and wouldn’t listen to her.

“You heard the woman, Derek,” Stiles says immediately, shoving Derek inside the room as Melissa starts laughing. Then she hurries down the hallway and calls after her that she’ll go find Lydia.

When Stiles turns towards Derek, he’s staring at him with an expectant look on his face, his hands spread out as if he’s waiting on Stiles for answers.

“I have no idea, dude,” Stiles shrugs, “But if Melissa says Lydia needs to talk to us now, you can be sure we’ll want to wait a bit.”

“Talk to _me_ ,” Derek specifies.

“And you’d leave me in the dark?” Stiles says, a playful pout on before he knows it. He thinks he can see a tiny smile tugging at the corners of Derek’s lips.

“Maybe she has the results of your blood test?” Stiles says, suddenly dead serious again, even though he knows that the cheerful demeanor of Melissa really didn’t indicate bad news.

“Impossible,” Derek shakes his head, “It’s way too soon to tell anything about that yet. The blood she took when I came in was just so that if I’m infected, I can prove I wasn’t before. To prove that it came from her, for insurance purposes.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, his shoulders sagging. “I was hoping for some good news.”

“I know…” Derek says, the ‘me too’ unspoken but clear in his voice.

“Derek, I…” Stiles starts, even though he’s not quite sure what to say.

He’s saved from having to figure it out by Lydia striding into the room.

“Officer Hale!” she says jauntily, “Stiles.”

“My sweetest, dearest Lydia,” Stiles pleads with her, “Please tell us you’ve got some good news?”

Lydia smirks, tilting her head up as she looks at Stiles. “I actually need to talk to Derek,” she says, her face turning a bit apologetic.

“It’s fine,” Derek says before Stiles can even protest, and Lydia looks between the both of them like she’s trying to contemplate whether or not to go on or to physically remove Stiles herself, but then she leans against the side of the examination bed and crosses her arms in front of her.

“What I'm about to say is completely off the record, never happened, I will deny everything in a court of law, and I will never try to help you out again if you tell anyone where you got this information, alright?” Lydia stares at them menacingly, her lips pursed together, and she doesn’t immediately go on, like she needs them to actually say the words.

“Understood,” Derek says, evenly.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Stiles says, making a sweeping movement with his finger over his chest.

“Alright,” Lydia nods, her shoulders relaxing a bit as she goes on, “Scott gave his mother the identity of the woman whose blood you came into contact with…”

Derek nods, his entire body tense.

“Now I’m sure you know we can’t break doctor-patient confidentiality, but it just so happens that she _is_ a patient here at the hospital,” Lydia goes on. “And I may have had a little look at this patient’s personal file, recent blood works, had a little chat with the physician that treated her…”

“Treated her _for_?” Stiles asks, feeling his heart beat in his throat.

“ _Not_ HIV,” Lydia stresses, looking back at Derek. “Because she doesn’t have it. Nor does she have hepatitis or anything else that could’ve been dangerous for you.”

“What?” Derek breathes out, like he doesn’t quite understand.

“I found a full blood work on her,” Lydia explains, “A recent one. She isn’t HIV positive, Derek. She was lying to you.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, slapping his hands over his mouth. He feels absolutely giddy, his ears are buzzing, his entire body vibrating. Derek can’t have gotten infected. Derek is fine, a perfect picture of health. Derek is… looking like he can’t believe it. He’s just staring at Lydia, his lips parted slightly.

“Like I said, you didn’t hear this from me,” Lydia repeats, “And you still have to keep doing the blood tests, make sure everything follows its course legally. But now at least you know what the results will be.”

“Oh my God, _Lydia_!” Stiles all but shrieks, then throws his arms around her, hugging her tightly. Lydia scoffs, and she’s surely rolling her eyes at Stiles’ display of affection but Stiles doesn’t even care, he’s so happy. Besides, Lydia hugs him back briefly anyway.

“I didn’t think you’d particularly love living in doubt, so…” Lydia addresses Derek again, who still looks like he’s been hit with a hammer.

“No, I…” Derek says eventually, his voice hoarse and tiny, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Lydia smiles softly, clutching her charts back to her chest. “Now I’m sorry to drop the news and run, but I pretty much have an entire floor of patients waiting for me, so…”

“Yeah, no, of course,” Stiles shakes his head, and he can’t stop the beaming smile that’s plastered all over his face. “We don’t want to keep you! Thank you so much, Lydia.”

“I’m just glad it was good news I was able to share,” Lydia smiles fondly before opening the door and stepping through. Before she closes it, she sticks her head through the door again and looks at them sternly, “But this didn’t happen, remember?”

Stiles snorts as he nods, “Promise.”

And then Lydia closes the door behind them, leaving a still stunned Derek alone with Stiles.

“Derek…” Stiles breathes out, his smile wide, his heart beating furiously in his chest.

Derek is still standing there, staring out in front of him, like he can’t quite believe it.

“Hey…” Stiles says, his hand reaching out to Derek’s shoulder tentatively, “Relax, breathe.”

Derek ducks his head, closes his eyes for a second, and Stiles isn’t sure if he needs to give Derek a moment alone or not, but his body is deciding for him because before he knows it, Stiles has his arms thrown around Derek’s neck, Derek’s face pressed into his shoulder.

“You’re alright,” Stiles whispers, tightening his arms as he lets out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding. And then he feels Derek sag against him, finally bringing up his arms to curl around Stiles’ waist and hug him back.

It feels good to have Derek’s scent in his nose again, to feel Derek pressed up against him, even though hugging with bullet proof vests is like hugging a tree, but still Stiles doesn’t want to let go. He can feel Derek’s breath on his skin, and it wakes something up inside of him, this aching for Derek that never really went away.

But then Derek is pulling back gently, blinking his eyes a few times as he straightens up and clears his throat.

“We should really go,” Derek says, his voice still a bit hoarse.

Stiles wants to protest, wants to give Derek some time to process the news, wants to talk to him, wants to… to know where they stand. But they’re on the job, and Scott and Allison are waiting for them, and Argent needs to be arrested and… Yeah, there’s really no time for any of it. So Stiles nods, can’t help himself from putting an encouraging hand on Derek’s upper arm one more time and squeezing. He tells himself it’s in reassurance for Derek but Stiles knows he needs it to ground himself as well.

***

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” Scott asks when he spots Derek and Stiles coming around the corner. “We’re not supposed to be relieved for another three hours?”

Allison is standing in front of Argent’s hospital room door, her jaw squaring when she sees them approach.

“Yeah, we uh…” Stiles starts, his eyes flitting between Scott and Allison.

“You found something,” Allison says, her head held high.

“The DNA matches the murder victim,” Derek says, softly, “I’m sorry, Allison.”

Allison sniffs as she nods, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

“The Chief asked us to come relieve you now,” Stiles goes on.

“Yeah…” Allison nods, like she understands, but then she turns on her heels and strides into Gerard’s room.

Scott is right behind her, calling out her name, but she’s already next to the bed when Stiles and Derek make it into the room as well.

“How?” Allison asks her grandfather, the little tremble in her voice audible. “How could you do this?”

“Allison…” Scott says, a hand on Allison’s shoulder in an attempt to guide her out of there.

Gerard doesn’t even look at her, just lolls his head to the side on his pillow and averts his gaze. There are machines beeping, his heart beat never even speeding up, and Stiles wonders how someone can be so cold when facing their granddaughter?

“The computer you gave me…” Allison starts, and there’s a flicker of recognition in Gerard’s eyes, but his face stays cold as ice, distant.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Gerard says eventually, and Derek puts an arm around Allison’s shoulder as he nudges her to turn around.

“Come on, Allison,” Derek says quietly, guiding her towards the door, “This is no use…”

Allison doesn’t protest, lets herself be guided out by Derek. Scott is still hovering by the bed, his jaw clenched, staring at Gerard like he’s about ready to throw a punch.

“Hey,” Stiles says, getting Scott’s attention. He throws a look at Gerard - who is back to staring at the wall, not even paying them any attention - before telling Scott, “He’s not worth it.”

Luckily, his friend listens to him, and follows him out the door.

“ - and Erica, they’re gonna be here soon to question him,” he hears Derek say.

“I wanna be there,” Allison says, determined, “Maybe he’ll open up more, maybe he’ll admit to things if I’m there?”

“Or maybe he won’t,” Scott says, carefully, “Allison, you’ve been trying to reason with him for a while now. It hasn’t worked.”

“I know, but…” she sighs, her shoulders hunched.

“I’m sorry, Allison,” Stiles says, softly. He can’t even begin to imagine what she must be going through right now.

“You should probably get back to the station,” Derek says, “The Chief will probably let you go home early today. You should get some rest. Maybe go see your father, make sure he knows?”

“Yeah,” Allison sighs.

“We’re staying here anyway,” Stiles says, “And we’ll let you know if anything happens, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Allison says, nodding.

Allison and Scott finally leave, and Stiles slumps down in one of the plastic chairs next to the door to Gerard’s room. He tilts his head back against the wall, sneaking a look at Derek.

“Hey…” Stiles says, softly, pulling Derek out of whatever reverie he was in so he looks at Stiles. “Sit down for a second.”

Derek looks at the empty chair next to Stiles like he’s contemplating it, but something is stopping him.

“Talk to me?” Stiles asks, and he doesn’t mean to sound so fragile but somehow he does.

Derek clears his throat, his eyes fleeting over Stiles, before he says, “We have to place Argent under arrest,” and heads into the room.

***

Stiles is used to hearing suspects confess. It’s usually one of the best parts of the job, hearing the conviction practically roll out of the perp’s mouth. It feels satisfying, the fruits of a job well done.

Usually.

Hearing Gerard Argent confess feels sickening. Hearing him talk about how Daehler was the perfect associate for him, how being Allison’s grandfather made it so _easy_ for him… it makes Stiles’ stomach turn. All Daehler needed to be convinced was access to Allison.

“And the fact that you’re using your own granddaughter this way…? It didn’t stop you?” Erica asks, looking up from her notes.

“She didn’t even know she was being watched,” Gerard says, like that makes anything better, “She was never in harm’s way. All he wanted was to monitor her, to have a view on her life. She wasn’t in danger. I’m not a _monster_.”

Stiles scoffs from where he’s standing by the door. Next to him, he can feel Derek practically vibrate out of his skin. Stiles wonders how close he is to snapping and punching Gerard’s lights out anyway, regardless of the fact that there are four Detectives between them and him.

“Her privacy? Her mental health?” Cora notes, her eyes fixed on Gerard.

“I was _dying_!” Gerard barks out, and Stiles suddenly remembers that time Scott talked about his first impression of Gerard… Creepy doesn’t even begin to describe it. “I was dying and I recruited someone that could help, that could save me.”

“But at what price?” Erica asks.

“The price everyone is willing to pay when it comes to saving their own life!” Gerard booms, his voice grand even though he’s laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines. “And Matt was practically thrown into my lap! There’s nothing he wouldn’t have done for Allison. And he was perfect… with his memory. He could just browse through any medical records, didn’t even need to print anything out or write anything down. Leave no trace. He could find me a match, all the variables, because it was all stored in his head.”

“So he found a match for you,” Isaac says, “Just some guy that had broken his wrist but that had the perfect variables for you…”

Gerard actually _grins_ as he brings his hand over his chest, right over his heart, and Stiles shakes his head in disgust.

“Who killed him?” Erica asks, leaning back in her chair, crossing her legs.

“Why, Matt, of course,” Gerard says, slyly, “I mean, how could I? I’m just a poor old, sick man.”

“Sick, for sure,” Stiles mutters just loud enough for Derek next to him to hear.

***

Gerard’s confession is enough for a search warrant for Daehler’s place, _and_ an arrest warrant for the man himself, and Stiles can tell that it gives Derek great satisfaction to be able to slap the cuffs on Daehler.

“We’re going to have a little talk, Matt,” Boyd says, clapping his hand on Daehler’s shoulder roughly as he takes over from Derek.

“You can’t touch me!” Daehler cries out, “Police violence!”

“Jesus Christ,” Isaac rolls his eyes as Boyd snorts. “You think we’re gonna rough you up? We already _have_ everything on you, dude.”

“Your little buddy Gerard confessed,” Boyd says, and Daehler’s eyes go wide. “It’s over, Matt. It’s back to jail for you.”

“It was all his idea!” Daehler says as Isaac and Boyd lead him to their car. “He made me…”

“I love it when they wanna pin it on the other guy,” Stiles says smugly, turning towards Derek, “It makes them so very talkative.”

Derek gives him a small but distracted smile.

“Hey,” Stiles frowns, taking a little step closer to Derek, “What’s going on with you? I thought you’d be happy? Relieved?”

“I am,” Derek nods, forcing another little smile.

“You think I can’t read you?” Stiles makes a face.

“No,” Derek says, letting out a puff of air, “I know you can…”

“Hey!” Jackson suddenly calls out from the doorway, “Kira and I are not going to search this house all by ourselves, alright?”

“Jackson…” Stiles sighs, because seriously? Does he always have to have such bad timing?

“Take the basement, Stilinski!” Jackson barks out, throwing him a stash of evidence bags.

“Fine,” Stiles mutters, snapping on his gloves and stomping over to the basement while Derek starts on the cabinets in the hallway.

In the end, they find Daehler’s locked laptop - that’s another job for the Computer Crime Unit - as well as mementos of Allison stashed away in a secret compartment in the back of Daehler’s bedroom closet. Pictures, little trinkets… enough to get him for stalking, at least.

“Think this is Allison’s?” Stiles asks as he bags a pair of big, golden earrings… a bit flashy for his own taste.

“Allison doesn’t wear earrings,” Jackson mutters.

“Not at work, no,” Stiles shrugs, sealing up the bag, “But maybe she does outside of work?”

“I’ve never once seen her wear gold,” Kira frowns as she takes the bag from Stiles’ hand, examining the jewels. “And this does not seem like her style at all.”

“Wait a second…” Derek says, looking up from where he’s rummaging through a closet, “Golden earrings?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, holding them up for Derek to see.

Derek takes his cell phone out of his pocket, pressing it to his ear after dialing.

“What is it?” Stiles asks, but then Derek sticks up his finger in a “hold on” gesture as he calls out, “Cora?”

“He’s onto something,” Stiles whispers at Kira and Jackson, despite the obviousness, a little bit proud.

“Didn’t the report say somewhere that your victim’s last credit card activity was at a jeweler’s?” Derek says into the phone, as he eyes the earrings, “What did he buy?”

“Oh God,” Kira mutters, Derek still listening intently to the phone.

“... with a pink stone in the shape of a droplet embedded in it?” Derek asks hopeful, and Cora’s answer must be positive, because Derek’s face cracks open in a smile. “Sis, I think we found your link between Daehler and the homicide.”

***

Stiles throws some water on his face, and in the process pretty much splashes it all over his shirt as well. It doesn’t matter much though, he’s about to change out of his uniform anyway and into something comfortable to go home.

Or maybe go to Derek’s? Now that everything is cleared up - Derek _isn’t_ sick - they can maybe make it work again, right? They haven’t really had a chance to talk yet since their conversation with Lydia, but surely Derek is completely reassured now? And there’s nothing stopping them from picking up where they left off?

Stiles splashes some more water on his face before reaching for the paper towels. Today had been long but satisfying, and Stiles wants nothing more than to just relax and lay down in Derek’s arms.

Derek, who has still not come down to the locker room to get changed after his shift.

Stiles steps out of his uniform, bunches up the wet shirt and stuffs it in his bag before stepping into his pair of jeans and a hoodie. When he’s tying up his shoelaces, Jackson comes down as well.

“Hey, Whittemore,” Stiles calls out as Jackson opens his locker, “Have you seen Derek?”

“He already went home, man,” Jackson answers as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“What?” Stiles frowns, “He didn’t come down to change.”

“Nah,” Jackson says, shrugging, “He said he was tired, would change at home. I saw him leave like two minutes ago.”

“Oh…” Stiles says, his fingers freezing on his laces.

***


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A huge thank you to Space for the beta, and to Juu for the encouragement. 
> 
> \- This fic is now complete!

It’s his day off, and while Stiles usually applauds those days, the timing on this one kind of sucks because he just knows that today it means extra time for worrying and thinking about Derek.

He groans as he rolls over in his bed, reaching for the cell phone on his nightstand. It’s not like he’s expecting a text from Derek, but there’s a pang of regret in his chest anyway at seeing the display screen empty. He sighs as he puts the phone back on the nightstand, only missing the bulk of it and the phone goes tumbling down to the floor. He can’t be bothered to pick it up again.

He thinks he might try and doze off again, but for some reason he’s wide awake and ugh… now he can’t even sleep in on his day off? This day is going to suck.

Stiles gets out of bed and there’s a slight chill in the air. He grabs a pair of sweatpants that’s hanging over a chair and pulls them over his boxer shorts, then pulls his shirt out of the waistband again. He’s trodding over to the bathroom when there’s a knock on the door.  

Stiles groans again, he’s really not in the mood for company.

“Just a minute!” Stiles yells out, loud enough that he’s confident that whoever is at his front door will hear it, and he steps into the bathroom.

Whoever is rude enough to come knocking on his door this early on his day off will just have to wait until he’s taken a piss and brushed his teeth. He flattens his hair a bit with his hands but doesn’t bother brushing through it.

By the time he goes to open his door, he half thinks that whoever it is has probably given up by now, but to his surprise, he finds Derek standing on the other side, holding a cardboard tray with two cups in one hand, and a paper bag that’s gone slightly see-through from the grease in the other.

“Derek,” Stiles says, staring at him with an open mouth.

“I woke you up?” Derek asks, apologetic.

“No, you uh…” Stiles shakes his head, “You interrupted a fascinating walk toward the bathroom for a morning leak.”

“Ah,” Derek says, and he’s still standing there in the hallway, holding up what appears to be breakfast until Stiles realizes that he hasn’t offered to let Derek in yet.

“Uhm, sorry, do you wanna…?” Stiles asks, taking a step backwards to make room in the doorway for Derek, “You know where the kitchen is…”

Derek nods as he heads inside, putting the coffee on the counter.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Stiles says, somewhat subdued, as he hugs his arms around his chest against the morning chill.

“I’m sorry, I…” Derek says, a little bit sheepish.

“I was waiting for you yesterday, but you kinda disappeared on me,” Stiles goes on, because there’s no point in beating around the bush.

Derek nods, biting his bottom lip before he suddenly strides over to the couch and picks up the blanket Stiles likes to snuggle under in the evenings when he’s watching television. He immediately tugs it around Stiles’ shoulders, wrapping him up in it before reaching for the coffee and handing Stiles his cup.

“You were cold,” Derek simply says, and then he holds out the paper bag to Stiles. Croissants and Danishes. Stiles should’ve known.

“So you’re here to give me breakfast and make sure I’m not cold?” Stiles quirks an eyebrow at Derek, who immediately ducks his head.

“I’m here because…” Derek sighs, leaning back against the counter. “Because I want to apologize. For not really listening to you when you wanted to talk yesterday, for going home after our shift without even saying goodbye.”

“You didn’t want to see me,” Stiles shrugs, wrapping the blanket a little tighter around him without spilling his coffee.

“No,” Derek shakes his head, “That’s not the case, and you know that, Stiles.”

“I don’t know anything anymore, Derek,” Stiles says, his chest tightening, “I thought that after Lydia told you that you were fine, that everything would be okay again, that you’d realize how stupid you’d been. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“I wasn’t stupid, Stiles,” Derek scoffs, and _of course_ he does, “I was trying to protect you, keep you safe.”

“It’s not your job to keep me safe!” Stiles says, shrugging off the blanket as he sets down his cup of coffee.

“Yes, it is!” Derek counters, vigorously, “It is exactly my job!”

“Okay, at work, maybe, yes,” Stiles argues, “But not like this, Derek.”

“This can happen again,” Derek simply says.

“So that’s why you ran away yesterday?” Stiles asks, after a beat.

“I didn’t ru - ” Derek sighs, but Stiles goes on anyway.

“So what are you going to do then?” Stiles asks, challenging. “Never date anyone ever again at the off chance something might happen to you on the job? Because I gotta tell you, Derek, if that’s the case you seriously chose the wrong line of work. We are constantly at risk, okay? I thought you knew that.”

“Of course I do,” Derek says.

“Well then you know that you can’t let it cripple you,” Stiles says, “I’m not saying you have to be an irresponsible idiot that thinks he’s bulletproof, but you can’t stop people from getting close to you in case something happens to you either.”

“And what if it happens to the people around me?” Derek asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “All I had left when my family died was Cora. And she was all that mattered, until… until the people on this job. They became like a family too. And then _you_ came along…”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Stiles tries a weak smile.

“It knocks me off my feet, alright?” Derek confesses, and he still makes it sound accusing somehow but Stiles thinks he’s beginning to understand. “And I didn’t realize just how much until all of a sudden… What if something happens to you? What if it’s my fault?”

“What if you’re the _best_ thing that could ever happen to me?” Stiles says, and he’s not trying to be cute or funny. He’s dead serious here.

Derek opens his mouth, like he wants to retort, but no sound comes out. He just closes it again, looking at Stiles with big, gleaming eyes.

“So what is it that you want, Derek?” Stiles asks, going for broke, “Because call me crazy, but it looks like you do care about me. And yet you keep pushing me away. Even when everything is fine and there is absolutely no reason to… So… I don’t know? Maybe you just keep coming up with excuses? Maybe I’m wrong and you really don’t want any of this?”

“No,” Derek says, a pained expression on his face, and he reaches out to Stiles but stops before he can touch him, like he’s afraid to. “I _do_ care about you, Stiles, you know that.”

“Then what is it that you want?” Stiles asks, exasperated, “Because I’m pretty much here for the taking, dude!”

Derek lets out a tiny snort, even though his eyes are glimmering and his eyebrows are knitted together in worry. And maybe Stiles would smile and give in to that tingling in his stomach if it wasn’t for the fact that he was so damn frustrated by Derek right now.

“Are you never scared?” Derek asks, but he’s taking a step closer to Stiles anyway.

“Yeah,” Stiles huffs out, nodding, “I am. But it’s a hell of a lot better when I’m with you, to be honest.”

Derek nods, like he understands, like he even agrees maybe, as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth for a second.

“I want you,” Derek breathes out, and it sounds like a confession and a salvation at the same time, and it’s all Stiles needs to take that final step forward and press his lips against Derek’s.

Derek’s arms find their refuge around Stiles’ shoulders, hauling him in closely and Stiles melts into the embrace, Derek’s lips warm and wet against his. Stiles’ fingers cling to Derek’s sweater, like he’s afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Derek mutters against Stiles’ lips, his arms tightening around him a little bit more.

“Only say sorry if you’re planning on letting go of this again,” Stiles whispers, pulling his head back far enough so he can look into Derek’s eyes.

“I’m not,” Derek says, full of conviction all of a sudden, and Stiles isn’t sure what pushed him over the edge but he can only be grateful for it. “I…”

“... am here for the taking?” Stiles huffs out with a hint of laughter, never taking his eyes off Derek’s.

“I love you,” Derek says instead, his voice steady and deliberate, and ironically it makes Stiles’ knees buckle a little bit.

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat, struggling to find his voice to say it back, because he _does_ , oh God, he does.

“And it scares me, because I’m not used to that feeling,” Derek goes on instead, a thumb rubbing gingerly over Stiles’ jawbone. “But… I don’t think I wanna go back anymore. And maybe you’re right, maybe it’s a hell of a lot better when I’m with you.”

Stiles nods as he lets out a breathy laugh, his fingers tangling in the back of Derek’s sweater.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, his voice sounding rough all of a sudden.

Derek’s mouth curves in a smile, his eyes all but glowing as he leans his head forward a bit, forehead resting against Stiles’.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispers again, his own face cracking open in a smile, and he’s just about to say the words back when Derek catches him in a kiss again, more vigorous and determined now, so Stiles responds in kind, showing Derek what he wanted to say through his actions.

Derek’s palm cups Stiles’ cheek, his thumb tracing soft patterns over his skin as Stiles kisses the side of Derek’s mouth, lips brushing over stubble as he breathes in the scent of Derek. One of Derek’s hands travels down to Stiles’ back, sliding underneath his shirt to rest firmly on the small of Stiles’ back. Any trace of the cold chill Stiles was feeling earlier is long gone, his body heating up with every touch of Derek’s skin against his.

Breakfast is forgotten - and yeah, those coffees will be cold - but Stiles doesn’t care much. He’s hungry for something else, something he feels like he’s gone his entire lifetime without. His lips are crushed against Derek’s, his tongue seeking access that Derek gives all too glady. The kiss is wet and heated, and everything Stiles needs. Fire shoots through his body as he presses himself firmly against Derek, and Stiles shudders as he feels Derek’s hard-on push against his hip.

Stiles grips his fist in the front of Derek’s sweater, tugging him along as he tries to lead him to the bedroom without breaking the kiss. It’s a bit clumsy and uncoordinated, but Stiles doesn’t care and Derek doesn’t seem to either. Derek just pulls Stiles closer to him, both of his hands now on the small of Stiles’ back, fingertips disappearing under the waistband of his sweatpants.

“You’re lucky I brushed my teeth before opening the door,” Stiles grins against Derek’s lips, pushing him down on the unmade bed.

“You think I wouldn’t kiss you with morning breath?” Derek asks smugly, his hands already reaching out when Stiles crawls over him, knees on either side of him.

Stiles just smirks at him, leaning back to reach Derek’s sneakers and shove them off. Derek’s hands find Stiles’ hips, his fingers grounding him firmly as Stiles leans over to catch Derek’s mouth with his. His lips nip gently at Derek’s, his teeth grazing Derek’s soft skin every now and then before he laves it with his tongue. Derek’s hand is caressing the skin of Stiles’ side as he starts rubbing their hips together, the friction enough to make Stiles completely hard. There are little sounds coming from the back of Derek’s throat, content and pleasurable, and it warms Stiles up inside.

His fingers catch on the edge of Derek’s sweater, and he pushes it up, shirt and all, until Derek lifts himself up off the bed a little bit so Stiles can pull it over his head. Stiles throws the clothes off the bed, probably somewhere near his phone, and ducks his head so he can seal his mouth over Derek’s nipple, tongue darting out to twist around it, which causes Dereks hips to twitch against Stiles’. Stiles grins against the skin of Derek’s chest, teeth scraping over it until Derek falls back onto the mattress and groans. He makes his way back up, nosing at Derek’s neck, stubble scratching delightfully at his skin. And then Derek starts sucking at his jawline, down to his neck and Stiles just lets his head loll down on Derek’s shoulder, giving in to the sensation.

“Fuck…” Stiles breathes out, pressing his face into Derek’s neck like he’s a damn kitten or something. He might as well be, he’s on the verge of _purring_.

“Patience,” Derek smirks, fingers splayed over Stiles’ back, pushing up his shirt.

Stiles chuckles, his chest filling with affection. “You are so not funny.”

“And yet you’re laughing,” Derek says, a hint of wonder in his voice as his hand moves up and down, almost soothingly.

Stiles smiles, he can’t help himself, before kissing Derek again. Derek curls his arms around Stiles’ waist, turning them over so he is on top of Stiles, his body perfectly aligned, his hips pushing down. His hand is sliding down the waistband of Stiles’ sweatpants, underneath the boxer shorts, edging them down a bit.

And as much as Stiles wants to go there - because God, _yes_ , he truly does - there’s something he needs to say first, before pants come off and dicks gets touched and Derek can think it’s all part of the heat of the moment. His hand is on Derek’s shoulder, his breathing ragged as Derek’s mouth is nibbling at Stiles’ neck, and he manages to get out, “Wait. Derek, wai - ” He swallows hard, and then Derek’s face is pulling back, his hand freezing on Stiles’ hipbone, and _Jesus_ , he looks half terrified. “No, wait, it’s not…” Stiles breathes out, and he tries to compose himself a bit, clearing his throat.

Derek’s eyes are on his, not letting him go, and Stiles brings up his hand, a finger tracing over Derek’s worried brow, down his nose, resting on his just-parted lips.

“Hang on one sec,” Stiles says, the edges of his lips tugging up in a smile, “I just need you to know… Before you think this is just me clouded by arousal…”

“Stiles…” Derek starts, lips brushing against Stiles’ finger.

“I love you,” Stiles says firmly, his eyes never leaving Derek’s, and he swears he can see the moment the words set in with Derek, and his face blossoms open in a genuine smile, his eyes blinking before he leans down and buries his face in Stiles’ neck, just holding onto him for a moment.

“I love you,” Stiles whispers again, because he needs to hear the words again, needs to know that Derek knows it.

“I love you too,” Derek mutters against his skin, hands trailing up and down Stiles’ sides. Somehow, the words sound even better to him now, now that they’re equally divided between them.

“C’mere,” Stiles mumbles, searching out Derek’s mouth again to catch him in a kiss. “Now you can take off my pants, ‘kay?”

Derek sniggers, but does as he is told, pushing down Stiles’ boxers shorts and sweatpants over his hips, down his legs. Stiles reaches between them to flick the button of Derek’s pants with his thumb, his hand skating inside to graze over Derek’s hard-on. It’s like it jolts something inside of Derek, because soon all clothes are strewn all over the bedroom floor, and Stiles finally has nothing but Derek on top of him, warm and solid.

Kissing Derek is enchanting, the way his lips move softly over his, the way his tongue darts out and captures Stiles’, the way it’s slow and focused, the way it’s nothing like any other kiss Stiles has ever had before. He’s lost inside the kiss, so gone on the feel of it that Stiles doesn’t even notice Derek nudging his legs together until Derek’s cock is sliding between his thighs, finding friction.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles breathes, tilting his head back on the mattress as he reaches his hand down around his own aching cock. There’s pre-come leaking from it already, and he catches it with his fingers, smearing it over his thighs to slicken them up a bit. Derek groans, his hand covering Stiles’ as he starts stroking in rhythm, thrusting down his hips as he does. Stiles squeezes his legs together, the feel of Derek’s dick slipping in and out of the space between them invigorating.

Derek kisses his chin as his head is tilted back, working his way right underneath his jawline.

“Derek…?” Stiles moans, Derek’s hand tightening and twisting around his dick. And Derek is apparently too busy, too focused on sucking what will probably be a nice bruise on Stiles’ neck to acknowledge Stiles calling out his name - or moaning it out, more like it.

“Derek,” Stiles tries again, and this time Derek noses at the sensitive spot he just sucked into Stiles’ skin before lifting his head enough to drop a peck on Stiles’ lips. “Not that this isn’t _unbelievably_ nice, but… I’m just saying, if you would want to put that dick somewhere else…?”

Derek’s face cracks open in a smile, because yeah, they haven’t really gotten that far before yet, and they haven’t really discussed the logistics of it all - and Lord knows Stiles is all about versatility - but right now he just really wants to be filled up by Derek, he _craves_ it.

“Yeah?” Derek asks, throaty, and Stiles swears he can feel Derek’s cock twitch between his legs.

“If that’s okay with you?” Stiles asks, his teeth scraping over his bottom lip in an attempt to look coy, “I mean, I can go either way, but…”

Derek crushes his lips down on Stiles’, which Stiles takes as a ‘yes’, and Derek’s hand comes down to cup his ass, caressing the cheek before he teases his finger between the crack, slowly, purposefully. It doesn’t take long for Stiles to grab the lube and condoms that he has stashed away in his nightstand, or for Derek to stop teasing and get a couple of fingers in there. Stiles thinks he could probably come from Derek’s fingers alone, the way they fill him up, the way they’re soft and rough at the same time, leaving Stiles squirming underneath Derek, making what he’s sure is embarrassing noises but he’s confident that Derek loves them anyway.

“This good?” Derek asks, his voice hitched, crooking his index finger inside of Stiles a little bit.

Stiles’ hips lift up off the mattress for a second, chasing Derek’s touch.

“Am I being ambiguous about it maybe?” Stiles lets out a breathy laugh, letting his hands slide over Derek’s shoulders, down his upper arms.

“I’m thinking those are good noises,” Derek grins, his nose nudging against Stiles’.

“I could give you a running commentary if you’d like,” Stiles quips, and he thinks Derek might twist his finger _just right_ simply to shut him up. There’s a shuddering groan escaping him before he presses his mouth against Derek’s and mutters, “I’m good, just… Please?”

Stiles whines at the loss of Derek’s fingers, but the anticipation of what’s to come more than makes up for it. His fingers are fumbling with the condom wrapper, trembling a bit as he rolls it over Derek’s hard dick. He’s slicking himself up as he curls himself over Stiles, pressing tiny kisses on his lips. And his face almost stills against Stiles’, and they’re breathing in the same air as Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and Derek starts pushing in… gently, carefully, until Stiles gasps and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, trying hard not to come right there and then.

Derek bottoms out, plastered over Stiles without moving a muscle, his elbows bracketing Stiles’ head, his mouth pressed against Stiles’ cheek. He can feel every inch of Derek’s body, surrounding him, filling him, and it makes him feel like his skin is on fire, like his nerves are all tingling and his chest is swelling five times its size and he still can’t get enough of it. It’s overwhelming and intoxicating and he feels like he’s about to buzz out of his skin.

“Move,” Stiles breathes out, rubbing his face against Derek’s because he just wants more _contact_ , “Oh God, Derek…”

And then Derek starts moving, starts thrusting in and out, slowly at first, and then faster all of a sudden as he catches Stiles in another kiss, lips claiming his and tongues battling until he’s _groaning_ into Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles’ ankles are digging into Derek’s thighs, urging him on, never breaking the kiss. And then Derek twists his hips just right and Stiles has to gasp for air, fingers digging into Derek’s shoulder, trying to keep its grip because Stiles feels like he’s floating, like he’s falling, like there’s only Derek and the feel of his touch and it’s overwhelming and… pretty out of this world if Stiles is completely honest.

“Fuck, Stiles…” Derek mutters, forehead resting against Stiles’, as he thrusts into him, twisting his hips again in just the right way, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat again.

“ _That_ ,” Stiles breathes out, and it’s the most coherent he can be at this moment, but Derek obviously gets him because he does it again, his dick brushing up against that perfect spot and Stiles thinks he might come untouched.

It doesn’t take either of them long to finally come though, Derek reaching between them and wrapping his fingers around Stiles’ aching cock, coaxing the orgasm out of him. Stiles thinks he might black out a little bit, his entire body spasming as he comes all over his chest, Derek’s fingers still stroking him as he presses his face into Stiles’ neck. He follows Stiles not long after, coming deep inside of Stiles before collapsing on top of him, and Stiles embraces the sticky weight.

***

Stiles is starfished out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a dopey grin on his face.

“I don’t think I can walk anymore,” Stiles smirks, flexing his muscles to feel the delightful burn in every single one of them. “You’re gonna have to explain why I can’t go into work tomorrow…”

“To your dad?” Derek asks, quirking an eyebrow as he sticks his head out of the bathroom door, “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen…”

“But you fucked the energy out of me,” Stiles grins, spreading his arms a little wider, “I’m never gonna recover.”

“Shall I remind you of that statement in about half an hour, when you’ll probably be asking for a second round?” Derek smiles as he strides back into the bedroom - _God_ , Stiles has never seen a more beautiful body in all its glory - and comes to sit down next to Stiles on the bed. He leans over, gently brushing his lips over Stiles’.

“So, hey…” Stiles says softly, tracing a line down Derek’s cheek with the back of his fingers, “We’re done being idiots, right?”

Derek swallows, like he remembers how close they were to losing it all, and he nods gingerly.

“Because whatever happens, we can always deal with it together, right?” Stiles says, curling into Derek’s space, “I just… I don’t want you to close off. I mean, I get how stressful, how difficult it must’ve been for you, but - ”

“But it was difficult for you too,” Derek cuts him off, wrapping a protective arm around Stiles, his forehead resting against Stiles’. “And I handled it all wrong, because… I didn’t want to hurt you, but I ended up hurting you anyway.”

“Well, I’m guessing you weren’t having the time of your life either,” Stiles smiles softly.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, “I’m done being an idiot. I promise.”

“Together?” Stiles smiles, his nose bumping against Derek’s.

“We’re a team, right?” Derek smiles back, “Partners.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, tugging him a little bit closer. “Partners.”

***

**Epilogue**

“First round is on Chief Stilinski!” Stiles calls out as they find an empty booth near the corner of the bar.

“I believe I heard _Officer_ Stilinski?” the Chief squints his face, sliding in the booth on the opposite side of Stiles and Derek.

“That’s what I heard too,” Derek says, casual, as he slides up against Stiles, arm spread over the back of the seat behind Stiles.

Stiles gasps outraged, looking at Derek with open mouth. “ _You suck-up_!”

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” Derek shrugs, but he’s smirking at Stiles anyway.

“Come on, Stilinski,” Jackson says, looking at Stiles as he pulls up a couple of chairs for everyone, “We’re waiting.”

“First round is on _me_ ,” Allison stresses, shooting Stiles a reassuring look.

“Hey,” Parrish says, throwing his arm around Allison’s shoulder, “I thought we were here for you.”

“You guys have had my back, _once again_ , throughout this whole thing, and the least I can do is buy you all a beer for it,” Allison says, leaning into Parrish’s touch.

“Awww, no champagne?” Kira winks at Allison.

“Not until I get a raise,” Allison smirks back, glancing over at the Chief.

“Oh, as if I’m in charge of that,” John rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

“To the sweet taste of success!” Isaac says as he raises his glass after the beers arrive at the table.

“Well…” Derek says, a tiny bit uncomfortable as he shoots a glance at Allison.

“No, no!” Allison says, shaking her head as she raises her glass as well, “This is success. Daehler is back behind bars, and Gerard… well… he deserved it too. There are too many people that don’t get what they deserve, no matter how hard we try. This? Yeah, it’s been difficult. But this is justice. And it’s worth celebrating.”

“Officer Argent,” the Chief says, and the table goes quiet around him, “I think I speak for all of us when I say that I admire the strength and professionalism that you have shown throughout all of this.”

“Hear, hear!” Stiles nods, pointing his glass towards a now-blushing Allison.

“I am proud to have you on this team,” the Chief goes on. “In fact…” and he looks around the table, at every one of them, “I am proud to have all of you on this team.”

“Proud to be on the team,” Boyd says, quietly, and it takes Stiles by surprise because Boyd is never one for sappiness or public displays of affection, but everyone mumbles their agreement, looking fondly at Stiles’ father, and Stiles automatically leans into Derek’s side. Derek’s arm slips from the back of the chair and curls around Stiles’ shoulder instinctively.

“Now are we gonna drink or what?” Jackson breaks the thickness of the moment.

“Yeah!” Allison says, smiling broadly but Stiles can see her eyes shining, “To us!”

They all join in, raising their glasses before the first gulps go down.

“So I think Scott wins at having the crappiest day today,” Allison says cheerfully, as Scott starts to groan and hunches over the table.

“Please, no,” he whines.

“What happened?” Derek asks.

“I don’t know, you guys,” Kira shakes her head, “I spent an hour taking a statement from a woman that started out as a neighbors quarrel but that ended up with her wanting to press charges against the spirit of Dennis Hopper for farting in her bed.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Stiles giggles.

“Can we be there when you invite Dennis Hopper over for questioning?” Scott asks with a smirk.

“Scott, Dennis Hopper is dead!” Stiles calls out.

“He _is_?” Scott asks, bewildered.

“Oh my God!” Allison chuckles as Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Are you for real right now?” Stiles laughs.

“But he was in that second Thor movie!” Scott maintains, as everyone around him chuckles.

“That’s Anthony Hopkins, Scott,” Derek says with a straight face, but Stiles can tell he’s trying hard not to burst out in laughter.

“Oh,” Scott says, somewhat confused, and Isaac puts a hand on his shoulder.

“But wait, what happened with Scott today?” Erica asks, placing her glass on the table.

“Nothing happened…” Scott mutters, but Allison talks right over him, “He saved a puppy today!”

“Awww, that’s sweet,” Cora coos.

“Isn’t it?” Allison says sweetly, “It was trapped in this manhole, and Scott managed to get it free. Got right in there and held it up above his head so I could take it and get it out.”

“And…?” Stiles asks, because there’s gotta be more to this story, the way Allison is grinning.

“And it crapped all over me, alright?” Scott calls out, sighing.

“Oh God,” Derek shakes his head amused, chuckling into his beer.

“You should’ve seen his face!” Allison titters.

“I’m surprised you could even see it!” Scott says, but there’s a hint of a smile appearing on his face anyway, “What with it being covered in poop.”

“Only you, Scotty…” Stiles mutters amused, shaking his head.

“Well, I was blessed with another phone call from Mrs Hernandez today,” Parrish says, leaning back in his chair.

“I was wondering how she was doing!” the Chief grins.

“Oh, she’s doing well,” Parrish says cheerfully, “You know, apart from the fact that the President cut open her son again…”

“When will he ever stop?” Kira says dramatically.

Parrish goes on to recall the phone call with Mrs Hernandez as Stiles leans in a little closer to Derek. Derek automatically tightens his arm around Stiles a little bit, turning his head to drop a small peck on Stiles’ head. Stiles smiles as he looks at Derek with fondness.

“You okay?” Stiles whispers, the jaunty chatter and laughter of his colleagues in the background.

Derek looks at Stiles for a second before answering, “Perfect” with a broad smile.

Stiles nods and leans in to press his lips against Derek’s for a moment. Then Kira’s high pitched laughter picks up their attention again and he’s just in time to see Allison slip an ice cube in Parrish’s shirt and Parrish nearly knock over his chair as he shoots up, halfway between gasping and laughing. The others are whooping and making cat-calls, even his father is laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes.

_Perfect_ , Stiles thinks to himself. There’s laughter filling his ears, his father smiling at the scene unfolding in front of him, and the warm press of Derek beside him.

He smiles fondly at his colleagues, his friends.

_His family_.

***

THE END

 

 


End file.
